Us
by sodacreamorange
Summary: He's looking for purpose and she is the gateway. Modern AU, E/C
1. Chapter 1

It had been a long day at work. An unusually long day at that. Customer after customer asking for the same product.

"I'm sorry," he'd say, "We've already sold out. I can put it on backorder for you."

Many customers upset. "Don't you know that we have been in business with you guys for several years now? You should've known we were going to order this product! Why didn't you set a few aside for us?"

A few understanding. "That's fine."

It didn't matter how they reacted, however. Every e-mail, every call; somehow they all managed to make him feel guilty. As if he were some god that could just make what they desired appear right before them, grant their wishes within a second. He wished he could do that. Oh how much easier that would make things! But he could not. He was only a man. A man stuck with a desk job for a major technology distributor that had businesses suffering beneath them.

Erik sat at the bar, his face tucked in his hands and his brain pulsing against his skull. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to cry or throw a glass against the wall. Or both. "I just fucking hate technology, Nadir. These people are ridiculous."

Nadir chuckled. He understood his friend's pain. A life in customer service was terrible, but he got through it quite easily. Erik, however, was new to the business. It would be a while before he adjusted to the frustrations that came with the job. "It will be fine, Erik. We just have to get through this week and things will be back to normal."

"But after that there will be the next trend, then the next… it just won't fucking end."

Nadir pat Erik's shoulder in an act of reassurance. Erik pulled away angrily, not wanting any of his friend's tenderness. "Oh, right," Nadir said, smiling mischievously, "I forgot you don't like being touched when you're in distress."

"We've been friends for several years, you think by now you'd know I don't quite like being touched _at all_ ," Erik snarled.

Nadir rolled his eyes. He knew Erik was just being ridiculous, overwhelmed by a bad day at work. "I apologize for being compassionate."

The bartender finally approached after finishing up with another customer. "Is there something I can get you, sirs?"

"Two shots of Smirnoff, please," Erik said, no hesitation to his request. He'd been thinking of what to drink ever since he packed up at work, what would help take his mind off of things. Vodka seemed like his best bet. Something quick and heavy.

"You've got to watch your drinking, buddy," Nadir whispered as the bartender walked off to take care of his order. "Don't make this a habit." He wasn't used to seeing Erik drink, but at the same time he wasn't used to seeing Erik under much stress either. Except maybe personal stress when he was a freelancer. Still, he'd never handled his stress this way. Usually he'd sit down at the piano and play a song or several and everything would be over with, his mind cleared and ready to get back to work.

"It won't become a habit. I just need something to drown out my thoughts right now," Erik assured him.

Nadir sighed. He too was exhausted from the workday, desperate to retire back to his place. "Well, if you don't mind, I must get home and feed the cat."

Erik laughed. The bartender placed his shots in front of him. "You're still taking care of her?"

"What am I going to do, take her to the pound? You're the one who rescued her! Why didn't you take on the responsibility instead of just dropping her at my place?"

Erik downed one of his shots, the alcohol burning through him on its way down before settling in the pit of his stomach. He would've taken her in. He wanted to. But he was afraid. Afraid even many years after losing his first and final, he decided, pet. "I'm much too busy," he lied. Well, maybe it wasn't entirely a lie. He did like to keep himself busy, but he knew deep down that he could've made the time for a cat in his life.

Nadir shook his head. "Always with the excuses. I've got to go." He stood from his stool, straightening the cuff of his dress shirt. "Don't waste yourself too much. I'd hate to find you slumped over in some gutter in the morning."

Nadir left Erik's side as he downed the next shot. The burn was nice, a relief to his senses. He wanted more vodka, but he knew it was best to listen to Nadir. As much as he hated it, his friend was always right. Instead, he asked for a beer.

A crowd of people behind him erupted in applause as a band left the stage and the night's host walked back on in their place, pulling a mic from its stand. "Give it up again for White Horse!" The crowd applauded once more, a few hollering.

"Alright, alright. We've got another band for you. They're a little newer to this scene, but the past two weeks they've been here I think they were very well loved and they have actually become one of my personal favorites. Give it up for Mephistopheles!"

The crowd broke into loud assortment of clapping hands and shouts that made Erik's ears buzz as a band of girls took to the stage. Erik turned to watch what all the uproar was about, a beer in his hand and a mustache of foam above his lips.

"Thank you, thank you," a girl with obnoxiously red hair took the mic. "We are Mephistopheles, a little band that's been around for a few months now although we haven't started playing live until just recently."

"About time!" One of the enthusiastic crowd members hollered.

The girl laughed. "About time, indeed," she agreed. "Anyways, we're going to do a little introduction and we'll be on with it. How does that sound?" She paused for the crowd's participation, seemingly satisfied with the immense amount of shouting. "Sounds good. Anyways, this is Meg," she pointed to a dark haired girl strumming a few notes on her bass to make sure she was in tune. "Jammes," the one on drums, tapping out on the drum set, out of Erik's view, "And Christine," the blond on guitar.

"Also me. Carlotta," she said, pretending that she forgot herself when it was quite obvious she had not. The crowd appeared to favor her most, their applause for her being stronger compared to the applause for the other band members. "Thank you, thank you." Erik released a small snort of both amusement and distaste for Carlotta's character.

"This one seems to be a favorite of many. It's called Jewels."

The crowd cheered their appreciation for the song choice. The band started playing. Hard rock, Erik identified the genre. They weren't bad, he thought. Not something he'd crave to hear, but not bad.

"Thank you!" Carlotta shouted, the song ending with the applause of the crowd. "We've got another three songs for you all tonight. This next is one of the first songs we've ever written together. Let's see if you guys know it."

Carlotta's singing was not all that exceptional, but it carried the band well enough. That was until her mic started dysfunctioning. She kept singing still, but no one could hear her over the rest of the band. The guitarist and bassist looked to one another, unsure of what to do for a few seconds. The bassist nodded her head towards the mic in front of the guitarist. She appeared to panic for a moment and then began singing Carlotta's part. The mic was turned down since she was only meant to be part of the background, but her voice came out over the speakers, sad and sweet.

Erik felt something jump within him. This voice, _her_ voice, was something out of a dream. It was not what would be considered an outstanding voice by the day's terms—not something one would usually hear on the radio—but it was the most wonderful thing he'd heard in a long time. It was unique. Music in its rawest form. He tried to remember her name. What had Carlotta said it was? Maybe he could search her up later, find her online. Surely with a voice like that she's had to have performed her own music or at least covered a few songs for others to enjoy.

Carlotta's mic started working once more and her voice came back over, drowning the guitarist's singing. The girl ceased and moved to the background once more, focusing on the guitar in her hands.

Their song came to an end and the crowd roared with applause. Carlotta laughed, embarrassed her mic had malfunctioned. "Let's hope that doesn't happen again," she said, grabbing her water bottle nearby and hydrating herself before the next song.

 _Let's hope it does_ , Erik thought.

They reached the end of their set, leaving the crowd as they'd started. "Thank you guys once again!" Carlotta yelled over the ending of a song. "That is Meg on bass, Jammes on drums, Christine on guitar-"

"Christine," Erik repeated to himself, praying he'd remember through the building effects of intoxication.

"We are Mephistopheles! Thank you for listening! Goodnight!"

The crowd applauded and they left the stage, the host coming back to introduce the next band. Erik turned back towards the bar to regard his mug of beer, nearly empty.

 _That girl,_ he thought. _There is something about her._

Christine tossed her guitar back in its case and carried it with her to the bar as she sat at the far end. "Nachos, please," she said to the bartender who was waiting, knowing that she was going to order as she always did after performing a show.

She rubbed her face with her hands. Oh could that set have gone any worse? First she had forgotten half of her solo and had to improvise. It sounded fine, but it did not pale in comparison to what it was actually supposed to sound like. Then the lead mic started going out and she took over. She couldn't seem to erase that dirty look Carlotta shot her before the next song. What was she to do? Leave the crowd hanging?

Erik stood from his stool and walked down towards her. He didn't know what compelled him to do so. He never got the courage to talk to strangers, especially not strange girls. "You're Christine, right?" he asked.

The girl turned, her eyes seemingly sad and weary. "I'm Christine," she confirmed.

A voice spoke in Erik's head. _Walk away. She doesn't want to talk to you._ It wasn't loud enough over the alcohol. "Might I say, you have one of the most wonderful voices I've ever heard."

She sat dumbfounded, her cheeks coloring lightly. Wonderful? She'd heard several things about her voice—'alright,' 'needs work,' 'decent'—but 'wonderful' was not one of them. "Thank you," she replied, a small smile forming on her lips.

"Erik," he introduced himself, thinking it only fair that she knew his name as well, lifting his hand to shake hers. She took it without reluctance, his hand enveloping hers.

"Erik," she repeated, a small nod.

He took the stool beside her without thinking, immediately realizing how inappropriate his behavior was. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'm not usually like this. I had a bad day at work and I guess I'm kind of…"

"Drunk?" she finished his sentence, barely able to hold back a small giggle.

Erik nodded. "I promised my friend I wouldn't allow myself to get this way, but it's been a long day and I guess I wasn't aware of how strong alcohol could be."

Christine sighed, her shoulders relaxing with the rest of her body. "I know what you mean. Work has been shit lately."

He laughed, not expecting such language from a girl like her. But maybe it made sense considering the type of music she'd just been performing. "You could say that again."

"Retail," she said. "What about you?"

"Customer service."

"Ah, so we both work in hell?"

Erik laughed. "It feels that way sometimes, doesn't it?"

"All the time," Christine corrected him, resting her elbow on the bar and her cheek in her hand.

He stared at her for a moment, trying to think through the intoxication and other things bubbling in his stomach. She was pretty. Oh she was so pretty with her long blond curls and her soft, soft face. How could God bless a creature with such a lovely voice and a lovely face at the same time? "May I get you a drink?" he asked, not even realizing he'd asked it until he did.

Christine looked at him in surprise for a moment, but her face softened back, replaced by a small grin and shake of her head. "No thanks. I've got work in the morning. Besides, if I went home drunk, Mamma would kill me."

Erik smiled. "Mamma?" She appeared to be independent enough by what little he'd seen of her. He couldn't picture her needing someone else to take care of her or even living with someone else. At least not her mother.

She nodded. "Mamma takes care of me. She was the wife of one of my father's friends. She's been looking after me since my father passed a few years ago."

Something felt like it shot Erik. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

Christine shook her head. "It's fine. Just life, you know?"

"Life is shit. It's unfair to the best of us. I bet you never did anything to deserve your father's passing."

She stared at him blankly for a few seconds. He thought by the look in her eyes that he might have offended her. "Mamma told me everything happens for a reason, you know? So that we can move on, settle down. If my father hadn't passed, I probably wouldn't be in this band. I probably wouldn't even be talking to you right now either."

Erik thought for a moment. Maybe she was right. If he hadn't had such a horrible day at work, he wouldn't be here right now. He wouldn't have had anything to drink, he wouldn't have heard her sing, he wouldn't have found the courage to talk to her. Or maybe it was not courage. With every passing moment, he found that he couldn't really think straight. Instead of speaking, Erik settled on nodding, afraid to say something ridiculous and either embarrass himself or scare her away.

Christine's nachos made it in front of her, placed by the bartender. "Thank you," she smiled, smacking down a ten-dollar-bill onto the bar for the bartender's taking. She slid the paper tray of nachos between them. "Have some," she said.

Erik shook his head. "I'm alright. I'm not hungry." That and he wasn't too familiar with this bar. Those nachos might satisfy him for now only to come back and get him in the morning. He was sure of it.

"They're so good, though," Christine said, lifting a chip by its empty corner. The cheese fell down, dripping onto more chips below.

Erik gave in with a sigh, pulling a drenched chip from the tray. Surely she would not order these if she knew they were going to seek their revenge the next day. And she was right. They were good. He needed something to soak up the alcohol sitting in his stomach anyways.

"Well, Erik," she said, consuming her sixth and final chip for the night, "I've got to head on home. Mamma's gonna kill me. Or worse… send a search party."

Erik laughed. "Alright, Christine."

"It was nice to meet you." She lifted her hand for his once more.

"You as well."

He let go of her shaking hand and watched as she lifted her guitar case, pulling the straps onto her back before trotting out the door. It wasn't until he was taking a cab back to his apartment building that he realized he forgot to ask for her number. Wait, no. That would have been inappropriate. The least he could have done was ask if there was another day in which they would be performing. What was the band's name again?


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I'm trying to get better with revealing the thoughts and feelings of characters. It's usually what I enjoy most about fanfictions I read. I used to refrain from it as often as possible just because it's so hard for me to write emotions I find to be believable, plus I'm afraid to overdo it. Please tell me what you think. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

Every night after work, Erik attended the bar in hopes that Christine would be back on stage performing. Even when he was not at the bar, he kept thinking about her. He worried he'd made a bad first impression. He could hardly remember about half their conversation, but he hoped he hadn't made a complete fool of himself and that she might be willing to have another one. He wondered if, when he saw her again, he would even have the courage to approach her once more.

He hadn't told his friend Nadir of this new girl. He knew that if he was aware of his infatuation with Christine, he would not hear the end of it. Lunch would be a constant bombardment of questions on whether or not he'd seen her again and if they'd finally gone on a date and if he'd picked a ring out and... he just wouldn't be able to handle it.

At first, Nadir had only raised an eyebrow when Erik told him to go on without him as they were wrapping things up at work Friday evening. "I'm going to finish up with this customer's order and I'll take a cab home. Don't worry about me."

Then again, Monday evening, Erik tried pushing him away with the same excuse.

"I'll just wait for you. I have to finish up a few things as well," Nadir replied, returning himself to his desk chair.

"Well..." Erik had cracked. He knew his friend would have stayed all night with him had he actually planned on continuing with work. And Erik would've stuck with it as well, but he had a band to see and he was not going to miss it just for pride. "I actually planned on going to the bar afterwards."

And so Erik did. Monday night, Tuesday night, Wednesday night. Nadir allowed Erik's new behavior to slide for the first couple of days, but he grew concerned that it was becoming habit for his friend, and so he decided to go along.

"You ridiculous man," Nadir said, following Erik for the short walk to the bar after work. "I told you not to get hooked onto the alcohol."

"It's not the alcohol," Erik replied.

"What is it then?"

Erik looked ahead of himself in the direction of the bar. Should he dare admit it was a girl that kept him coming back? No. All the teasing and poking that would occur... it would not happen. "It's the nachos," he lied.

Nadir looked at him in disbelief. "The nachos?"

Erik nodded. "Yeah. They're really good."

"A pile of fat and sodium is what's keeping you crawling back every night?"

"Well, when you put it like that it makes them sound bad."

Nadir rolled his eyes. His friend had already lied to him about staying after for work. He couldn't understand why nachos would be a reason for sneaking around his back. Erik was up to something, he knew, and he wasn't going to let him get away with it. "I guess I'll have to try these nachos you speak of."

They sat at the bar, two glasses of water and a tray of nachos between them. Erik truly wasn't all that hungry and he hadn't had the nachos since Christine ordered them, but he ate them anyway. Anything to clear off his friend's suspicions. He wasn't sure why, maybe it was that the alcohol was absent from his tongue or maybe it was that someone else had made the nachos last time, but they weren't as good as they were the week before. Just plain tortilla chips and processed cheese. Nothing special or magnificent.

"I could've sworn they were better last night," Erik said, holding onto his lie by the fingertips.

"They're alright," Nadir said, scrunching his nose. "It's food for alcoholics and people just looking to fill their stomachs. Maybe you were just imagining things with all that vodka in your blood."

Erik's eyes narrowed at his friend, his jaw set hard. "I haven't had any alcohol since that first night." And it was true. He did not want to be intoxicated the next time he talked to Christine, and to him that meant refraining from even a single drop. He wanted to have complete control over his words and it pained him that he could only remember fragments of their last conversation. He tried and tried to remember, nearly driving himself mad when he could not recall an entire sentence.

"Sure," Nadir replied incredulously, rolling his eyes. He was waiting for Erik to break, to order a shot of Smirnoff and drown out his frustrations from the day. Work had calmed down since last week, but he thought Erik might have had other complications he was not speaking of, alcohol serving now as his way to salvation. Usually Erik told him everything, complained about a particular customer or something from his past that was nagging at him. Recently, however, he'd been rather quiet. Few complaints. Nadir didn't know that it was because his mind was occupied with other things like where Christine liked to shop for clothes and how much time she had to spend getting herself to look so pretty.

The crowd behind them cheered as another band took the stage. Hopeful Erik turned, watching as Christine and her other band mates set up, plugging in and tuning.

"Ah," Nadir said with a pleasurable sigh, "Music to entertain us and distract us from the fact that you spent a whole ten dollars on these mediocre chips."

"Shh," Erik hushed, wishing to hear them play.

There were no malfunctioning microphones this time, to his disappointment. They performed the same few songs, throwing in a cover towards the end. Erik hadn't realized, but he emptied the entire tray of nachos.

"As I said," Nadir spoke, plucking the empty tray from his hands, "Music to serve as a distraction."

Erik watched him as he stood, walking to a nearby trashcan to dispose of the empty paper tray. "I was going to lick the rest of that."

"What? The cheese on the bottom?"

"Yes."

Nadir was growing tired of Erik's lies, yet still he played along. "Maybe you need to go on vacation. First alcohol and now dive bar nachos? I don't know who you are anymore."

"Hey, Erik," the voice that had been stuck on repeat in Erik's head for the past week was now approaching him. Erik turned, his eyes locking with eyes which were both sad and bright at the same time. Her hair bounced with her as she walked towards him, setting her guitar case on the ground as she took the stool next to him. "Nachos, please," she said to the bartender standing by to take her order expectantly.

Erik had stilled for a second, staring at her as if she were a ghost or other supernatural being. He did not have to work up the courage to approach her again. Instead, _she_ had approached him. All his worries of having made her uncomfortable dissolved and hope filled every corner of his body.

Christine turned to him, her expression contorting with amusement at his gape. "What?" she asked.

Erik blinked hard, pulling himself from his dazed state. "Sorry," he apologized, "I was just staring off into space."

She laughed. "I hate when that happens. I do it a lot at work. Especially on my most boring days."

Erik nodded, chuckling lightly. He wasn't sure what to say. All the time he'd spent thinking of her was vanishing before him. Every conversation starter he'd imagined, everything he wanted to know and to ask her. It was all leaving him, replaced by a growing awkward air. All he could manage to do was stare into those blue eyes, praying they'd drown him or drift him far from this world.

"Are you gonna introduce me to your friend?" she asked, glancing in Nadir's direction.

"Oh, yeah," Erik said, completely forgetting he was there. "This is Nadir. We work together."

Christine reached her hand out for Nadir's. "I'm Christine."

Nadir took her hand, shaking firmly. "Nice to meet you, Christine." He shot a glance at Erik, releasing his grip on her hand. Erik could feel the quick graze of his friend's eyes on his neck, his lie shattering loudly as it hit the floor. He tried not to let it bother him, to focus on Christine rather than the pestering that was to come.

The bartender placed the nachos before her. "Thank you," she said, reaching into her pocket for cash.

"Oh no, I can get that for you," Erik said, quickly fishing his wallet from his pocket. The nachos, he noted, were only eight dollars. Christine, however, was generous in tipping two and he'd decided it was best to do so as well. He pulled out two five-dollar-bills and handed them to the bartender.

"You didn't have to do that," Christine said, frowning.

Erik waved her comment away, slipping his wallet back into his pocket. "Little money."

Christine pushed the tray in front of Erik so that the three of them could share. Nadir looked at them in repulsion.

"They're really good," she said, grinning at Nadir's expression while pulling a chip from the basket. Erik followed suit despite being quite sick of them. As he brought one to his mouth, however, it tasted much better. They must've put something in them whenever she ordered them. More salt maybe?

Nadir joined in on the nacho eating too, not wanting to be rude although he kept himself to two chips.

"So how was your day?" Christine asked, directing her question at Erik.

"Fine," he said, nodding with a small sigh. "Much better than it was last week."

She laughed. "I wish I could say the same."

Erik smiled. He loved her laugh. Had she laughed the last time they talked? He wondered if it had made him feel warm then as well or if maybe the warmth of the alcohol seated inside of him was much too potent for him to notice the warmth that he felt within his chest. He tossed another chip into his mouth. "You guys did wonderfully tonight."

Christine shrugged modestly, a small, incredulous hum emitting from her throat.

"You don't believe it?"

"I mean, I always could do better."

Erik shook his head. Was that how she felt about her voice? "That doesn't mean you didn't do well. I heard your playing and singing, and it was excellent." Without thinking, he lightly pat her knee. As soon as he realized he was doing so (which wasn't but two pats in), he pulled away. Inappropriate. Inappropriate being a man she hardly knew. But she didn't flinch or pull her leg away. Neither did she stiffen. It was fine. She was fine.

Christine sat grinning for a moment before she jumped, her eyes widening in a sudden realization. "I left my phone backstage. I'll be right back." She stood from the stool, leaving her guitar behind as she ran to the back.

"Nachos, huh?" Nadir teased as soon as she was out of earshot.

Erik rolled his eyes and returned to the tray, taking another chip into his mouth. _So it begins,_ he thought.

"So this Christine," Nadir continued cheekily, watching as Erik's figure grew tense, "Erik doesn't happen to find her... attractive, does he?"

Erik huffed, shoving another nacho chip into his mouth. It was the only thing keeping him from punching his friend. He wish he'd just leave.

Nadir laughed heartily, amused by Erik's silent answer. Erik's shoulders drew up in irritation. It didn't matter whether he spoke or not, his friend knew. Erik, a man who'd spent his entire life trying to build himself into a brick wall was like glass to this man.

"Why do you care?" he muttered, consuming another chip.

"Because I didn't know you were capable of loving anyone other than your own mother. You've always been so... consumed with other personal endeavors."

"I'm not in love, I just like her voice."

"In the same way the nachos have made you a loyal customer to this bar?"

Erik turned to him, his eyes piercing him sharply in their golden amber blaze just the way he desired them to. "Why don't you just leave?"

Nadir smirked. "Ah, you want her all to yourself?"

If Erik's mask hadn't been in the way, his friend would've seen the flare of his nostrils, the deepening red of his face. Only the hard line of his lips, the rising flames in his eyes, and the tensing of what little was exposed of his jaw below the mask served as an indication of the violent storm that was raging inside him.

"I'm joking!" Nadir said, hitting Erik's shoulder playfully, taking a sip of his water as if he were setting his weapons down. "I will leave when she comes back."

It was a short promise, but Erik knew Nadir was a man of his word and he relaxed at that. Yet still, it was not enough that he didn't leave then. When she returned he could slip in a word or two asking her out for Erik or perhaps tell her something embarrassing about Erik's past. The rage that was once boiling within him was now replaced with an immense amount of anxiety.

Erik relaxed further at the sound of her voice in returning. "Sorry about that. Don't want to leave without it."

"It's fine," Erik said, smiling warmly as if he wasn't just about ready to explode and take everyone in the building with him.

"Well," Nadir stood, Erik clenching every muscle within him in anticipation of the worst, "It was nice meeting you, Christine. I've got to head on home."

"Nice meeting you too," she replied, reaching out and shaking his hand one last time.

"See you tomorrow, Erik," he said, slapping his shoulder lightly.

"See you." They watched as Nadir left, turning in the direction of the nearby parking deck.

"You know, I was thinking about taking you up on your offer," she said.

Erik turned to her, his mask shifting as he raised his brow in confusion. "My offer?"

"You offered to buy me a drink last week."

"Oh," he said, trying to recall that part of their conversation. He could picture it. It wasn't something he would've offered had he not had a drink in his own hand and the building fog in his brain. Then it came back to him. "But I thought you said Mamma would kill you."

She chuckled. "She would, but sometimes she goes to bed before I get home."

"Is she against you drinking in general or just drinking in public?"

Christine shrugged. "Just getting drunk on my own without someone to look after me, I suppose." She laughed, a thought bubbling into her head. "I thought it might be funny if we got drunk on a Wednesday night here and sang some karaoke together."

Erik laughed. "So _every_ Wednesday is karaoke night?" He had sat through countless people, the night before, singing horribly and laughing amongst one another, many drunk or wild enough to participate in spite of their sobriety. Everyone seemingly enjoying the company of one another; joy and friendship working at its finest. He too had pictured a moment of him and Christine sharing the mic, a moment of romance between them as their voices intertwined. He kicked the thought aside, though, not wanting to pleasure himself with silly fascinations and fantasies. After a short while of mirthful singing, he realized they weren't going to wrap it up and bring out some bands, so he'd left.

"Yeah. I usually don't come on those nights, but I thought it might be funny if we did it."

Erik grinned. He wasn't sure exactly who the 'we' of her thought was. "You and me or you and Mamma?"

Christine giggled. "You and me." She tried imagining Mamma drunk on the mic singing some song by Katy Perry and shook her head. "I doubt Mamma would want to do that with me. Besides, she is quite old."

Erik felt heat rush to his face at her first three words. She wanted to get drunk with someone she barely knew? And sing in front of a crowd of people? Maybe he'd misjudged her character, but the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of it all. He sipped on his glass of water for a moment, eyes glimmering at her. "You'll just have to tell me which Wednesday you want to do it and I'll be there."

She smiled. "You're fun, Erik. You know that, right?"

He snorted, nearly choking on his water. "I've heard people say a lot of things about me, but 'fun' hasn't been one of them."

"Then what?" Her head cocked with curiosity.

"Well, just this last week I heard 'douche bag,' 'stick-in-the-ass,' and 'piece-of-shit'."

Christine pursed her lips, trying to apply those words to him. She shook her head in defeat. "I don't see it. Were those from customers at work?"

Erik nodded. "Every one of them."

"Customers just get frustrated sometimes. I bet if they actually met you they'd think you're fun too."

Erik laughed. "You should see my routine. 'Fun' is not a word that can easily be applied to my life."

Christine grinned. "Well, if that's so, we'll have to do that karaoke thing one night."

Erik smiled at the bar in front of him, his mind wandering off on the idea of just what songs they'd sing. Something romantic? Something silly? Either way, if they both were drunk, it would most definitely be less romantic than he had originally imagined. Enjoyable nevertheless.

She sighed and pat the space of the bar top in front of him, gaining his attention once more. "I've got to head on home. It was good talking to you again, Erik."

"You as well."

He watched as she jumped off her stool and pulled her guitar onto her back, leaving the bar with one last smile and glance at him. He tossed out the somewhat empty tray of nachos and headed out shortly after her, looking in the direction he'd seen her walk when she'd left the bar. He thought maybe she was heading to the nearby parking deck, but far down the street he caught her crossing the somewhat empty road, looking both ways before she did so.

He frowned, a rush of concern swiping over him. The city wasn't entirely dangerous, he knew, but it was nothing a girl like her should be walking at night. Especially not alone.

* * *

Christine cut another street corner, hurrying quickly back home to her apartment building. It had been another long night at the bar and even longer due to the fact that she had made the decision to extend her stay and talk with her new acquaintance. She was usually discomforted by drunken men, especially those she encountered on the streets, but this one had been nice. And he said he liked her voice! Maybe it was the alcohol, but she didn't care. He'd obviously been sober enough to even noticed she had sung on stage. Or maybe it was just a wild guess made from the guitar she had strapped to her back. Whatever. He wasn't drunk tonight and he still complimented her performance. That was enough. Besides, he wasn't like those dudes that approached girls at the bar and immediately asked for their number or if they were looking for a 'good time'. He was actually conversational and friendly.

Another corner. Quickly now. Mamma wanted her home ten minutes ago and if she was still up she was in for it.

"Looky here," Christine heard, a voice coming from a man leaning ahead of her on the window of an old store closed for renovations, his eyes fixated on her. She looked to him for a moment, her eyes shifting in the direction of the noise without her permission. She swallowed, focusing her eyes back ahead. She shouldn't have done that. She really shouldn't have.

She walked past him, head high, posture confident. He followed, pushing himself from the window. "How are you doing tonight, madam?" She could feel his presence on the back of her shoulder, the toothless smile of sin and ill will.

"Mmm the quiet type, eh?" She heard his devilish chuckle and her legs picked up speed, walking faster.

"Listen," he continued, "I've been kind of in need lately. A little down on my luck, you know?"

Christine swallowed. No, she did not know. She did not understand and she would never understand what compelled these men to think a woman like her would ever give herself over.

Her apartment complex was not far now. Just one more turn of the corner and she would be home.

"I've got a little bit of money and maybe-"

"Christine!" She didn't want to stop, but she did, surprised to hear her name. Maybe it was an angel that was coming to her rescue. Finally, her silent prayers answered.

"Christine!" The voice yelled again and she turned, hearing it come from down the street behind her. A tall, dark figure with a nearly full stark white face was running towards her, not too far behind. The man that had been following her had stopped as well, turning to see the same figure. Startled, he ran across the empty street towards a back alley.

Erik caught up to her, slightly breathless. She stood bewildered, watching as he caught his breath. Two men had been following her. Erik looked at her, his eyes sparkling with golden flakes and half his mask shadowed by the lonely streetlight ahead of them. His face turned in the direction which the other man had ran, making sure he was truly gone, then back to her. "Are you alright?" he asked in between breaths.

"Yeah," she replied softly, unsure whether she should be glad for his appearance or if he might be another assailer.

"Come," he said, his breathing finally back to normal. She felt his hand gently push against the back of her guitar case in an attempt to turn her around. "Let's get you home."

She allowed Erik to walk her back, afraid to push him away for the possibility of the other man returning, her mind running with a thousand reasons why he might have been following her as well. She stopped as soon as they reached the front of her building.

"Ah, so this is it?" he asked, looking up at the face of her apartment complex.

"Why were you following me?"

She couldn't wait any longer. She had to know why, prayed that he wasn't a stalker. She thought he was different. Once and for all she could meet someone in this city that didn't want something from her, just wanted to talk and share some nachos. It drove her insane how she could not just meet anyone like that. And now that she had finally found someone, they were being ripped from her hands right in front of her eyes, replaced by someone else. Unless he could convince her. Oh how she hoped he could prove to her that he was the man she thought he was.

Erik looked at her, his eyes full of concern. He swallowed. "I saw you walking on your own."

"And?" she asked reproachfully. That was no reason for him to follow her.

"I wanted to make sure you got home safe." She stood staring, still not entirely convinced. Erik sighed, his shoulders slumping. She was going to be difficult. He wish she knew everything that was flowing deep inside him, that he'd spent countless hours thinking about her and hoping she was doing alright and wondering if she was thinking of him as well. Now he had the opportunity to help her and to keep her safe and... and she didn't believe that he had good intentions. "I know I shouldn't have followed. I just didn't want you to…"

"To what?"

He didn't want a million things to happen. Every possible scenario of what could have occurred had he not interfered flowed rapidly through his mind. He couldn't expel to her just everything. It would scare her that he'd even been capable of imagining those things happening to her even those thoughts had scared him as well. He wished they hadn't crossed his mind. He didn't want them to cross hers. "To get hurt."

She folded her arms across her chest. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Erik squinted at her, a small puff of irritation coming out of his nostrils. Did she not realize the reality of the situation? "Are you certain?"

She pouted her lips, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "I was fine," she muttered through gritted teeth. "I was almost home anyways."

"Christine, the men out here are dangerous and-"

"And how am I to know you're any different?"

Her words were a punch to his gut. All he wanted was for her to trust him. He knew she had every right not to, but he just _wished_ he could convince her. Erik stood for a few moments, silence passing between them with the bitter air.

He tried calming himself before speaking, his voice as soft and genuine as he could manage it. "You have no reason to trust me, and I'll respect that. I'm sorry for following you, Christine. I truly am." He decided it was best to leave it at that. The more he talked, the worse things got. He didn't want to lose her. But the more he thought about it... he was sure he already had.

Erik turned to head down the street in the direction of several cabs parked on the side of the road.

"Wait," Christine called softly. Had he started walking, he might've not heard her. He pivoted back in her direction. Her face had softened. "Thank you." She was grateful. She truly was. She knew what could've happened to her. She was aware of the dangers of the world and, had Erik not stepped in, she knew very well she might not have actually made it home. As much as she wished she could have protected herself, she knew she probably wouldn't have been able to.

He nodded and turned back in the direction of the cabs. "Will you walk me home next Thursday?" she asked after he got a few steps in.

He stopped and looked back at her, his brow raising beneath his mask. "You want me to?"

She paused for a moment of reflection, feeling hesitant. "Yes. I do." It seemed safer. Either trust her life with a man she'd just met or trust she could make it back safe again on her own. It didn't matter which way she went, she was still gambling with her life.

"Alright," he replied.

She smiled for a moment before backing towards the door. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Christine watched as he walked away and towards a taxi at the end of the street, his tall figure turning one last time to look back towards the apartment complex before entering the vehicle.

"You're late." Mamma was waiting for Christine in the kitchen. Her old age had taken a toll on her, her under eye bags heavy as if two stones were set beneath her skin. But Christine noticed something different now. Her eyes were red. Unusually red. And not the type of red where one had been staying up all night to make sure someone they cared about got home, but the red where someone had been crying.

Christine practically tossed her guitar in its case on the floor. "Are you alright, Mamma?"

The old woman held tightly onto her mug of tea, the tips of her fingers going white as she did so. Her shoulders rocked with her as she choked, her head turning in an attempt to spare Christine of her tears.

"Mamma!" Christine ran to her side, gripping onto her arm.

"I'm sorry, Christine," she said between tears. "Aunt Inga passed away this afternoon. I just received a call from Uncle Edward."

Christine felt frozen for a moment. Then she felt like she was going to vomit. "Aunt Inga?" She hadn't been very close to the woman, but she knew she had a kind heart and was Mamma Valerius' only sister. In a family that had consisted of four other boys, Aunt Inga was the only hold of sanity Mamma felt she had growing up. Besides Big Mother, that is.

Mamma nodded.

Christine hesitated for a moment, not sure how to react. "I'm… I'm sorry, Mamma."

"It's fine, my dear," the woman laughed for a moment. "I guess it was her time." She started crying again, incapable of holding back from the aching call.

Christine enclosed her arms on Mamma's shoulders in a hug so tight it would have broken a glass. Mamma rubbed Christine's shoulder out of gratitude.

"It'll be alright," Christine consoled, whispering into Mamma's hair as she continued crying. "It'll be alright."


	3. Chapter 3

The growing summer heat was harsh in the city. Humidity lingered. Erik enjoyed being well-dressed (practically overdressed, as Nadir would say it), but the harsh temperatures that forced his body into a neverending state of perspiration were a burden on his clothes as well as his wallet. No single online tutorial or home remedy could seem to solve his little problem with sweat stains, so to the dry cleaners it was. This year, to his pleasure, his favorite place to purchase clothes was coming out with a new line of dress shirts designed for people with his same exact problem, something a bit more breathable for the summertime.

"Would you like the pink or the blue?" the woman helping him asked, holding two dress shirts up for his viewing. Both were pale in color, fitting to his tastes.

"I'll take both." He needed more clothes anyways. It had been a while since he had shopped for his closet. He used to enjoy it, searching online for odd yet elegant articles of clothing he could add to his wardrobe. Sometimes he would go to fabric stores just to peruse and end up stumbling upon something unique, later having it turned into a waistcoat for him.

"Would you like us to tailor it here for you today? I can do it. It will only cost another twenty for each and you can pick them up in a few days."

Erik nodded. "Sure." He knew he would need it anyways. Men of his size and stature were not very common, so everything he bought had to be tailored. Either that or he looked like a child trying on his father's clothes, an unusually tall child at that.

He stood in the center of the dressing room, the walls to his left and right taken by a few individual stalls for trying on clothes. In front of him stood several mirrors angled so that one may see every side of themselves.

"Put one of the shirts on and I'll return with my tailoring supplies," the woman said, leaving the room after having hung his shirts nearby.

Erik thought to enter one of the stalls, but he was certain that no one else was there in the store, so he settled for dressing in front of the mirrors. He watched someone from the corner of his eye, walking in as he began buttoning the blue shirt from the bottom up. He turned to regard the person, thinking it was the woman helping him.

"Erik?" Christine said, stopping in her tracks, three solid black dresses in her arms.

"Christine," he retorted with a smile.

He noticed her eyes cut towards his chest, his shirt a third of the way buttoned. From his right shoulder down to the center of his chest his skin was discolored and puckered, part of the reward for his survival of The Accident. He turned, not wanting to burden her with his body.

Christine saw the pain in his eyes. For a small moment she imagined the skin beneath his mask looking just the same.

"I…" she began. She didn't mean to stare at him. He looked to her, fingers at the final button. "I'm sorry."

Erik managed a smile. Although gentle, it was pained. "It's fine." His words were nearly inaudible.

Christine turned towards a open stall, trying to push the awkward exchange off. "Getting some new shirts?" she asked, setting her dresses on the small chair in one of the separate dressing rooms.

"Yeah," he replied, straightening his cuffs and pulling the sleeves down. "It's about that time for me."

Christine laughed, her chuckle warm and girly.

"Getting some new dresses?" he asked, not wanting their conversation to seize.

"Yeah," Christine sighed, standing in the doorway to continue speaking to him. "Mamma's sister passed away Thursday afternoon, and we've got her funeral next Friday."

Erik frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that." Another death in her life, another person removed.

Christine shrugged and the woman helping Erik entered the room. "Well, I'm going to go try on these dresses," Christine said with a smile before she shut the door to her stall.

It wasn't until Erik and the lady had moved onto his next shirt that Christine emerged from her dressing room, sneaking a small look at him in the mirror. They met eyes and she smiled.

"Looking spiffy," she teased.

Erik chuckled for a moment, his body bouncing with him. The lady helping him smiled, stopping her pinning for a moment to allow him to laugh. "How were the dresses?" he asked.

"I was going to ask the same thing," the woman chimed in.

Christine sighed. "All beautiful, but I've boiled it down to two." She stared admiringly at the dress on top of the others draped over her arms. "I've got to decide, I guess."

"Why don't you get both?" Erik asked.

Christine pouted her lips, considering it. "I'm not too fond of having a lot of dark clothes in my closet. I used to, but Mamma made me get rid of them, said I would be happier." She smiled, her teeth sparkling with her as she turned to meet his eyes once more in the mirror. "And honestly I have."

Erik took note to dress more colorfully when he saw her. "Well, let's see the dresses you've decided upon."

Christine did not hesitate, setting her pile on top of an empty velvet chair. She pulled the first one, holding it in front of her and moving so that he could see in the mirror. Erik and the lady helping him watched her thoughtfully, glazing over every detail of the dress. It would be easier to form a better opinion on it if she were wearing, he thought. But he didn't want her to have to go back through the entire process of dressing and undressing.

"The next?" Erik asked.

Christine set the dress down and pulled her final choice. It was not as plain as the other in terms of style. It was much younger, much more lively, even against the blackness of it all.

"That one," Erik decided for her. Christine made a face as if she were thinking against in, leaning more towards the other. "I think you'd look lovely in the lace," he explained. He watched her cheeks flush for a moment and her lips twitched into a little smile.

"Thank you." She turned, picking up her pile, and left for checkout.

"Girlfriend?" the lady helping asked as soon as she was gone, resuming her pinning.

Erik's fingers twitched. The fact that she had even considered it to be a possibility… it gave him hope that others could picture them two together. Then it hit him: he had a choice. He could only tell the truth, he couldn't bring himself to lie to this woman, but how much of the truth could he reveal? He thought for a moment. He could not bring himself to admit his love to even his best friend, although his friend already knew it. But this woman, a woman he might never see again until his next visit to the store, he felt it wouldn't matter and that, somehow, he would be relieved from the weight of it all, finally admitting to his affections.

"I wish," he replied with a small sigh. Those two words could've been filled by any emotion, but Erik chose to fill them with hope and longing.

The woman smiled. "Don't wait too long." Erik eyed her in the mirror, waiting for more insight into the world of love which he so desperately wished to delve into. She noticed. "I loved once," she continued, "But I never got the courage to speak up."

"But your ring?" Erik had noted the wedding band on the woman's finger.

She smiled. "I am married. Twelve years." Her eyes saddened, her smile faltering. "But as it seems we are sharing secrets, I will admit I have yet to feel the things that boy had made me feel so long ago with my husband."

Erik fell tense. This woman who was blessed to find love that could last a lifetime still was not satisfied. And out there, in the front of the store, stood the woman who walked his dreams. Happiness and satisfaction. A lifetime of it.

After the woman finished tailoring Erik's shirts, she rang him up to get his information so that he may be called back to pick them up. As they did so, Christine was leaving the store with her dress. He watched her through the windows as she crossed the street to a music store.

Erik finished at check out and headed over, leaving the store with an exchange of 'thank you very much!' and 'see you soon!' The music store was small, a few customers perusing over the music, and someone testing out an electric keyboard. He walked about, finding Christine sitting in the far back corner on a stool, a guitar in her hands and her dress hanging in its place on the wall. Erik could not recognize the song she was strumming.

"What's that?" he asked softly, approaching her.

Christine looked up at him in a jolt, surprised by his presence, then at the head of the guitar. "Taylor," she read.

Erik laughed lightly. "I meant the song."

She appeared to shrink for a moment, her shoulders hunching forward defensively. "Just something I wrote."

"Does it have words?"

She looked to him, her eyes as soft as sheep's wool. "It does."

"Can you sing it for me?"

Christine shook her head, looking towards the guitar as she hid behind a side of her hair. "It's not all that good."

He squinted at her for a moment, hoping to see a sliver of confidence within her—a hint that she was just being modest. It did not come. She truly believed her song was no good. He saw opportunity and took it.

"Maybe I could help you then." Her brows furrowed at him in confusion as he pulled a nearby stool to sit on. "I'm a bit of a musician myself."

"Really?" She hadn't imagined it. But then she did see it: his long fingers walking across the keys of a piano. Yes, hands of a pianist. Most definitely.

Erik nodded. "It's been some time since I've written anything, but I think I can help you. If you want."

Christine shook her head. "I don't know. I'm not really comfortable playing it in front of others."

Erik held back his desire to scoff. He knew her words were not true. He saw the life radiating from her as she played at the bar. She enjoyed the exhilaration and intimacy of it all. "You play in front a crowd every Thursday night. What's wrong with playing right now?"

Christine strummed a single chord softly for comfort, her fingers muting it as she avoided his eyes. "Playing your own music is… it's different."

Erik sat there blinking for a few moments. She was afraid. "Do you like that guitar?" he asked, gesturing to the one in her hands.

She looked to it as if she forgot which one she'd pulled from the wall. "Yeah. It's nice."

"If you sing your song for me, I'll purchase it for you." He knew it was a dirty trick to use the guitar as a bribe, but he couldn't help it. Anything to pull her out, pull that beautiful voice and soul out for his viewing and wrap his arms around her and tell her everything was fine and she didn't need to hide.

Christine looked at him wide-eyed and stunned. She shook her head. "No, you can't do that."

"Why not?"

She eyed the tag for a moment, already having its price memorized. "It's… it's expensive."

"So?" Money did not matter to him. He had plenty to spare, especially if it was for her.

Christine held tightly to the guitar now, unsure.

"I won't judge your songwriting, Christine. I promise. I just want to hear it," he spoke, his voice a soft reflection of the honesty in his words. He was ready to shower her with words of love and praise no matter what.

Christine sighed, forcing her shoulders to relax. She strummed out the first few opening chords and began singing about love and loss. Her voice was sad as was the song. Erik picked out a few things he would tweak, but overall it was lovely and it was _her_ song. _She_ had written it. And with that voice of hers? He wished to hear it again. He couldn't understand why she had been so nervous.

"That was beautiful," he said, gawking.

Christine smiled, her eyes flashing to him for a brief moment. The look of pure wonder and awe made her look away, her cheeks warming.

"Who was it about?" He had recognized it as a love song.

Christine took a moment for herself before answering softly. "My father."

"Your father would be proud." Christine looked to Erik, her eyes asking: _you really think so?_ Erik stood, looking towards the tiled ceiling as if it were the sky. "In fact, I have a feeling he might be smiling from the Heavens right now."

Christine giggled, her body completely relaxing with her, relieved he had enjoyed her music. "I hope so."

"I know so," Erik retorted, his eyes fixing back on her. He recalled his promise. "Come now, let's get you that guitar."

Erik purchased her the guitar and a new case so that she could carry it home safely.

"Thank you for this," Christine said, gesturing to the guitar strapped on her back as they walked out of the store.

Erik smiled. "No problem. I hope you keep playing."

"I don't plan on stopping any time soon."

Erik glanced between each of her eyes, wishing to kiss her right then. Kiss her for sharing her music with him and kiss her for having said she did not foresee a future without music. "Good," he replied with a small nod, his voice practically breathless.

Christine was smiling so brightly now. She was happy and so was he to see her that way, her eyes absent of the sadness he'd first recognized within them. "So you said you've written some music of your own?" she asked.

Erik nodded. "It's been some time, but yeah, I used to write."

Christine smiled. "What instrument?"

"Piano and a few others."

She giggled. "I thought so. Could you play me something someday?"

Erik shrugged. "If you want."

She looked down the street in the direction of her apartment building then back at him. "Would you like to go on a walk with me?"

Erik replied with a nod, not even asking where to. She beckoned him to follow, turning her back to the direction she had been looking. It was sundown and the street was bustling as it always would Saturday evening. Erik took Christine's dress for her, wanting to lighten her load.

"Have you been to Madeleine's before?" Christine asked, smiling with a certain bounce in her step.

Erik tried to recall the handful of places he'd visited in the city, not seeing a Madeleine's anywhere. "I don't believe so," he replied.

"You're in for a treat then!" she squealed, sounding most excited.

Madeleine's, Erik found out, was an ice cream shop. A popular one at that. He squinted towards the black chalkboard menu, overwhelmed by his options.

"How do you make any sense of this?" Erik asked, having to raise his voice over the crowd so that Christine could hear.

She giggled. "First you choose whether you want a cone or cup, then you choose what size cup or what type of cone, then you choose which flavor-"

Erik groaned. "Just get me whatever you're getting."

Christine placed two orders of coffee-flavored ice cream with chocolate syrup and cocoa puffs in a small cup. She reached for her wallet to retrieve some cash to pay, but as she did so, Erik's arm cut in front of her, inserting his card into the chip reader. She frowned, looking up at him with a squint.

"What?" he asked, smiling mischievously.

Christine moved out of his way so that he could insert his pin number. "You know very well what."

He laughed, giving his signature. She retrieved a few ones from her wallet anyways and tossed them in the tip jar.

"Thank you. Your order will be out shortly," the boy behind the register smiled, handing Erik the receipt.

They sat outside with their ice cream, somewhat away from the crowd. Christine huffed in resignation as she leaned her guitar against the bench, seating herself by Erik. "The very least you could've done was allow me to pay for the ice cream."

"And miss the opportunity to irritate you? I think not," Erik replied, scooping a small spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

"Oh you are _wicked_ ," Christine uttered, shooting him a playful scowl.

"Not as wicked as you having ice cream before dinner."

She laughed. "It's why I got the small."

Erik tutted, submerging his spoon back into his cupful. "Even the smallest portions are enough to spoil your meal."

Christine rolled her eyes, starting at her ice cream. "You know," she said, swallowing her first bite, "I applied for a job here."

"Didn't get it?" Erik asked.

"No," she shook her head. "But I applied when the place was just opening. I'm glad I didn't get it. They're always so busy."

Erik nodded, watching people walking in and out through the door, the poor thing never having a chance to rest. "So where do you work?"

Christine laughed. "You seem to know so much about me, I want to know more about you first."

Erik watched as she twisted towards him, pulling her leg up onto the bench and allowing it to fill the space between them. Her eyes narrowed as she tried thinking of what to ask. He swallowed, fearing he would again have to recount what had happened to him so long ago.

"How long have you been playing the piano?"

Erik relaxed, shrugging. "As long as I could remember. My father said I was always a bit restless and it was the only thing that they could find to get me to settle down."

Christine laughed. "Why not sports?"

Erik shrugged. "I was too young to start and after..." his voice drifted off. He had feared telling her yet here he was, trapped. Maybe he hadn't really feared telling her. Maybe he _wanted_ to tell her.

"After what?" Christine asked innocently.

He swallowed, looking towards the concrete beneath their feet. "After _this_ ," he said, gesturing to his face without gesturing at all, "I wasn't really fit for being around other children."

Christine sat still, listening and waiting for more. _Oh there it is,_ he thought. _The silence of pity._ Not what he wanted. _Never_ what he wanted. Especially not from her.

"I was three," he continued, incapable of stopping. They were at it now. Might as well. "My mother was driving me to day care and this driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and hit us hard." Christine watched his eyes as he retold what happened. His mother dead at the wheel, the car engulfed in flames, his body being pulled from the car. He shook his head, hand shaking on his spoon. "I just..." he looked to her, eyes roaming over her face, "I just thought you might wish to know. It's usually the first thing everyone asks me."

Christine shoved her spoon into what was left of her ice cream, reaching for his hand with her now free one. He stilled for a second, surprised by how tenderly she held him for the moment, and pulled away gently but swiftly.

"Please," he said, eyes filled with plea, "No pity."

Christine retracted her hand as if she had regretted touching him. She slowly returned to her ice cream, thinking of how to resolve the awkward silence that now filled the gap between them.

"I have a scar too," she said suddenly, wanting to relate to him in some way.

He turned to her, furrowing his brows in a concerned manner as he swallowed another bite.

"I could-" she cut herself off, looking down at her jeans with a sad smile. "Well, I could've shown you if I were wearing shorts."

Erik chuckled. It warmed his heart that she was trying. His chuckle seemed to help her because she crossed her legs, looking forward with sparkling eyes.

"I also have a lot of stretch marks from when I was growing so fast. They're faded now."

"Growing?" Erik teased with a raised brow.

"Shut up!" she yelled, playfully hitting his shoulder.

"La plus petite mais la plus adorable fleur du jardin."

Christine blushed, setting her feet flat on the ground. "La ferme," she replied softly.

Erik tensed. He didn't think she had understood. "You speak French?"

She nodded slowly, silently.

"I didn't expect that from you."

"Well I was the one who named our band Mephistopheles after the character in Faust." She still spoke softly.

"Mephistopheles," he repeated. "So _that's_ your band's name?"

She laughed. "You didn't know?"

"Well, I didn't remember after the first time and I didn't catch it the second."

Christine laughed, recalling the night she first met him.

"But Faust," he said, fascinated and turning himself like she had before, his knee on the bench. "How come a girl like you performing rock music just so happens to also be into opera?"

She shrugged, smiling. "My father was a classical musician."

"Really?" he asked, his fascination growing.

"Really," she laughed.

"What did he play?"

"Violin."

Erik smiled. "I can play violin too."

"Really?" Christine asked, surprised by how much she didn't know of this guy.

"Really," he replied with a nod.

She finished off her ice cream. "You should come over sometime and play it then. I still have his instrument laying around somewhere."

He smiled. "I'd love to."

They disposed of their empty cups and spoons, heading back to her apartment complex, the sun absent from the sky.

"Thanks again," Christine said, taking her dress off Erik's hands once they'd reached the building.

"No problem," he replied, grinning.

"I'll see you Thursday?" she asked.

Erik nodded. "If I don't run into you again."

Christine backed towards the doors, laughing. "Of course! Goodnight, Erik."

"Goodnight," he replied, turning towards the cabs and looking back once to make sure she was inside the building.

* * *

Christine laid in bed, trying to go to sleep. Her body was exhausted and she thought that was enough to send her deep into sleep, but her mind kept her up. She huffed in frustration, music playing through her head, a chord progression that was digging away at her. She knew if she stayed in this position for another hour longer she would fall asleep and she would lose the music, waking in the morning in a bout of frustration, unable to recall the progression.

She sat up, flicking on the lamp beside her before stumbling her way to the new guitar standing in her corner, lifting it off the floor. The inside rang as one of its sides lightly hit the wall. She hissed at the noise and brought it back with her into her bed. She ran her hand over the side, feeling for any dents or cracks in the wood. To her relief, she found nothing. So many times she'd ran her hand over that side in the small music store. The image of it in her room, with her on stage, only crossed her mind once or twice. She thought she could never afford it, but found there would be no guilt in visiting it at the store she frequented so long as she remained a loyal customer, constantly purchasing new picks as she'd misplace or have them stolen from other musicians at the bar frequently.

She found the chords in her head, recreated them on the guitar. But what to sing? Anger for her ex flowed through her, filling her every vain and burning her heart. No, these chords were much sweeter. _He_ was undeserving of a song anyways. Maybe something for Mamma?

She tried playing the chords once more, but words didn't come to mind. She started over, repeating the progression again and again. She decided the first song she would write with this guitar would be about the very man who bought it for her, the same man who made her feel as if she _should_ write and that her music was worthy of being heard. Erik.

* * *

 _A/N: I can't speak French, but I think I found a pretty decent translator online (not Google). Apologies to those who can actually speak/read it if the translations are butchered. Thanks for reading!_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Sorry I've been bad at updating. It's not like me, but school and family have been kind of difficult lately. So there's that. I promise to get better. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

Erik noticed Christine was off. She hadn't seemed so enthusiastic tonight during her performance and her eyes, as sad as they almost always appeared, lacked the shine he'd seen within them before. It was gone and her eyes dull. Usually she liked to talk. He was not much a talker himself, so he depended on her to initiate conversation. But tonight she wasn't talking. Just absentmindedly eating nachos and staring off into the distance.

"What's wrong?" Erik asked finally, stern and in need of an answer.

Christine looked to him, her eyes opening the furthest he'd seen them open that night. "Nothing," she replied softly, choking on her single word.

She tried looking away, but Erik didn't allow her. He brought his fingers to her chin, holding her gaze to his. Her brows furrowed deeply as she held her breath.

"Please, Christine," he begged, "Tell me."

He broke her. The tears came without any true warning as if they'd been waiting for their release the entire night. "I can't do it," she cried, her words barely comprehensible.

"What? You can't do what?" he asked, releasing her face as she shuddered.

"I can't go to the funeral. I just can't." Erik watched as she sobbed and worked to calm herself. "I wanted to go to Auntie's funeral for Mamma, but I just _can't._ "

"Why not?"

She drew in a pitiful breath of air. "The last funeral I went to was my father's. It was a while ago, but I have yet to get over it. I don't think I could do this one. Seeing all those people would send me back and I'd just lose myself again and hide away. I can't do it."

Erik eyed her for a moment, thinking. "You should go, Christine."

"But I-"

"Go for Mamma. Try. She needs you. She's been there for you, you should be there for her." He sighed, watching her think over his words. "If it would help, maybe I could pick you up within the timeframe of the funeral and we could get something to eat. It would give you a nice little break from things and I could take you back before it was over."

Christine took her time in thinking over his proposal, twiddling her fingers as she did. Eventually she nodded, meeting his eyes with her own. "I'm down for that. Where would we go?"

Erik shrugged. "Wherever you want to."

She smiled and the shine he adored returned to her eyes. "I should give you my number then. If you are to pick me up."

He nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket and handing it off to her. She typed her name and number, inserting a guitar emoji behind her last name before handing his phone back to him.

"Christine… day?" he tried her last name.

She smiled, giggling lightly. "Die-ay," she pronounced each syllable for him.

"Christine Daae," he nodded, correcting himself.

"What about your last name?" she asked, watching as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Erik rolled his eyes and shrugged. "I don't really associate with it."

"Why not?"

He sighed deeply and looked to her unblinking. "Me and my father, the man whose name is mine, haven't been on the best terms in…" he tried thinking of the last time him and his father had been on good terms, dropping his gaze. "Well, I can't remember."

Christine touched Erik's arm gently and he pulled away. "No pity, Christine," he reminded.

"No," she argued, "I just…" Erik found her eyes sad once more, lost in a sea of thought. "I'm sorry."

* * *

Erik was stunned by the amount of cars in the parking lot as he drove towards the front of the funeral home. As small as it was, the lot was full, some people having to park in the grass. Christine sat on a bench waiting for him, phone in hand in case he called.

"Big family?" Erik asked as she opened the passenger side door.

Christine laughed as she shut the door, taking her seat. "You could say so. Family and friends."

"Where to?" he asked, picking up his phone to allow her to type in an address or restaurant name.

She took the phone from his hands and pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Do you like comfort food?"

"Don't worry about what I like, worry about what you want," Erik said, shifting into drive.

Christine typed in the restaurant name and Erik turned back onto the road. "It's a drive-thru only restaurant, but we could go to a park and eat."

Erik glanced at her a moment, raising his brow. "It's Saturday. The only decent park in the city will be overflowing with children and families."

Christine sat thinking.

"But we could go back to my place. If you're alright with that, that is," he added.

Christine smiled and nodded. "That's fine."

Erik's condo wasn't much larger than Christine's apartment, but it was nice and much more open, she thought. Nice, clean and modern. Gray furniture, white countertops, sparse lighting. Erik set their bag of food on the glass coffee table and moved to the far side of the room to open the curtains, allowing in the summer light.

Christine heard a small mewl coming from one of the rooms off ahead and watched as a tiny siamese cat emerged from behind one of the cracked doors, trotting towards Erik. He watched the cat approach him with an expression of amusement before it stopped to groom itself.

"I didn't know you had a cat," Christine smiled, walking in his direction.

Erik laughed. "I didn't. Not until last night." He resisted an eye roll at the memory of his argument with Nadir at lunch time, how he was guilted into taking her off his hands. "Her name is Ayesha."

Christine knelt down near the cat and held her hand out as an introduction. Ayesha, in turn, nuzzled her hand with a small purr, asking Christine to pet her. "I think she likes me," Christine smiled up towards Erik, scratching Ayesha's back.

"Not a surprise," he laughed. "As long as you show her affection."

Christine continued petting Ayesha and Erik walked off to the kitchen close by to retrieve some plates and silverware for their food.

"Do you mind if I take off my shoes?" Christine asked. "My feet are killing me."

"Please, make yourself comfortable," Erik replied, fixing them each a glass of water.

Christine sat on the couch and unbuckled her heels, slipping them off with a pleasurable sigh as Erik set their plates and glasses upon the coffee table. He pulled the knot of the plastic bag with their food and set each tupperware box to the side.

"You have a strange idea of how to create a meal," Erik derided, eyes glazing over the waffles and mashed potatoes. Who would've thought to pair those together?

"It's comfort food, it's not necessarily supposed to be considered a masterpiece in the culinary arts."

"I'd say."

Christine elbowed him lightly in the ribs and leaned forward for a plate and fork as he held the spot where she had hit him, peering at her as she poked and pulled a slice of ham onto her plate.

Christine sat back with her plate full. She looked around, observing more details of his condo, particularly admiring the bird paintings on the wall surrounding his television. "How long have you been living here?"

"Several years," he sighed.

"And we've never ran into each other before?" she asked in surprise. "It's a small city. Lots of people, but small."

He laughed and placed the lids back on their rightful containers. "You never quite told me where you work."

Christine chuckled, chewing her bite before swallowing. "I actually work the bar's street corner. A woman's clothing store."

Erik tried recalling the street he walked down practically everyday, every store and detail. He never considered his surroundings. Not in the city. "I don't think I've ever paid it any mind."

She laughed. "You're not just saying that because you're a gentleman, are you?"

He looked to her in confusion, upset he didn't understand what was quite so funny.

"I'm teasing!" she laughed wholeheartedly, mistaking what little of his expression she could make out for offense. "But you are a gentleman," she said, picking at her mashed potatoes. "It's been a while since I've met a man as genuinely kind as you." Her expression darkened. "Even then, I'm not quite sure if it was genuine."

Erik gently placed his hand on her thigh and his eyes fixed on hers as they found his. He wanted to ask her what had happened, but he sensed now was not the moment. "Would you like me to play something for you?"

She watched as he set his plate down, revealing an upright piano pushed against the wall behind him. Her eyes sparkled when he looked back to her, an answer in themselves. He was off the couch in a shot, pulling the bench for him to sit. His hands stumbled over the keys a bit while he decided what to play, settling on Mozart's "Queen of the Night".

Christine joined in from the couch, singing along with his playing. Her voice stunned him. He usually only heard it several times on the stage, digging for it through the pile of guitars and drums. But now he had it raw and it was not the same voice he'd heard on the stage, not even the first night. It was golden, beautiful in every form. Hers. Genuinely hers.

She set her plate down and approached him at the piano to hear better and he was thankful for it, closing his eyes and focusing on her singing as his fingers danced in memory. He loved her voice for what it was even as it seemed she struggled with the upper register. It was beautiful and she herself was in parallel. He turned to her when the song had finished and couldn't help himself but stare in admiration.

Erik stood before her, slipping his hands beneath her hair and onto her cheeks. "Where?" he asked breathlessly, "Where did you learn to sing like that?"

"I've always sung," she blushed. "But I've had some training from my father's colleagues."

Erik shook his head. "How are you not already adored by millions? How are you not singing for larger crowds, operas? How did you get stuck in a band on background vocals? Your voice must be heard, shared with the world!"

He pulled his hands from her hair and looked around as if he were searching frantically for something. "I mean, can't you see it?" His eyes settled back into hers. "You alone, just you, in front of a crowd of thousands, singing. Everyone awestruck by your beauty, just yours. No guitars or drums blaring over the sound of your voice. Just you and _your_ music."

Christine felt warm, so utterly warm. She thought she must've looked like an apple. His kind words were an assault. Her voice? Her, a star on stage? She couldn't imagine it. She had imagined it before, dreamt of it, but she thought it could never be true. She thought she could never be good enough, convinced herself she wasn't good enough. "I-I don't know about that, Erik."

"What do you mean?" he asked, wide-eyed. His hands slipped back into her hair, holding her face tight. "Do you not know how perfect you are? Are you deaf?"

She grew hotter. Erik didn't even realizing what he was saying, deaf himself and overwhelmed by the flood within him. Christine wanted to reply, to argue back, but she struggled to find the words. A slide of glass on glass and a subsequent shatter on his floor came to her rescue, breaking Erik's spell. They both jumped and he pulled his hands from her hair, looking in the direction of the noise. Ayesha sat atop the coffee table, staring below at the mess she'd made.

Erik's lips pursed with a heavy breath of air. "Bad kitty!" he yelled. "Bad!"

Ayesha jumped off the table and ran off to a room while Erik cleaned the mess, careful with the shattered glass. He paid extra attention to every little shard upon the floor, making sure there were none left to the best of his abilities.

"Don't step over here yet," he warned. "I'd hate for you to cut your feet if there was anything left."

He threw the glass away and carried Christine's plate to her along with her shoes, setting them by her feet. They finished lunch and drove back to the funeral home.

"Why do you always ride in a taxi if you have a car?" Christine asked, a question that had been poking her ever since he pulled up.

"I carpool with Nadir to work. It's easier that way."

Christine nodded. She watched the city fly by with reflective glass windows and people hurrying along in business attire until they were out close to the surrounding suburbs.

"Can you come inside with me and play something? They have a piano," she asked, looking toward him.

Erik thought to say no. He wasn't fond of crowds nor funerals, but she was Christine and the request was so small. "Sure," he replied.

Mamma stood with a circle of other women, dabbing a tissue to her eyes when they entered. Erik was thankful for his mask now, feeling himself flush at the sight of everyone in full black. As dark as he was himself with his presence, the floral waistcoat and new pink shirt he'd decided to wear for Christine was obviously not part of the dress code. Mamma smiled brightly, approaching them from out of the circle and everyone who had looked up to see who had entered returned back to what they were doing.

"So this is the man who called my Christine adorable," Mamma laughed, hugging him.

Erik flushed again, glancing at Christine and finding her cheeks rosy, her face painted with guilt in spite of the shy smile upon her lips. Mamma pulled away, noticing both of their expressions. "Ah! I apologize. I'm not quite myself today," she said looking around.

"I'm sorry for your loss, madam," Erik spoke.

Mamma smiled. "Mamma," she corrected lightly.

"Mamma," he nodded, taking note.

The old lady smiled. "I thought he could play something for us, Mamma," Christine said. "The piano?"

"Ah, yes," Mamma turned, pointing. "In there."

Christine grabbed Erik's hand and led him into the small room where a few people sat talking quietly. He took his seat at the bench with a small creak of wood.

Erik looked to Christine. "What should I play?"

She shrugged. "Something sweet and somber?"

Erik nodded and turned to the fall board, lifting it before his fingers found the keys. People began to crowd as he played, maintaining a distance from the source of the music as if not to disturb him. Christine took her seat beside him on the bench, tossing her little purse to the side. Erik smiled at her for a moment before returning his eyes to the piano.

She laid her head lightly on his shoulder and her hand wrapped carefully around his bicep. It restricted some of his movement, but he happily adjusted, looking over for a second to find that her eyes were closed.

* * *

Erik stood in front of his childhood house for the first time in years. Never had anxiety flown through him so harshly. He was having a panic attack, he knew. He could barely breathe, felt as if he was going to vomit, but still he managed to press his finger to the doorbell, listening to that familiar classic _ding-dong_ coming from inside.

It took a few moments before the curtain by the door shifted, his eye appearing in the window staring right back at him, first in curiosity then in shock. The door opened, the man he knew so well and barely at all appearing before him. Gray and tall, thin yet softer than him. His eyes were wide and he was pale as if he'd seen a ghost. He might as well have. It had been so long.

"Erik?" he breathed.

"Father."


	5. Chapter 5

The house hadn't changed much since the last time he saw it. It was his second home. If you could call it a home, that is. Gerard, his father, had purchased it for himself and Erik after everything had happened. He kept the walls bare and whatever decorating he did manage was done with furniture. Gray, bleak furniture. Erik's room was the only thing with any life inside the house, his own space to shut the world out. He didn't know what his father was like before his mother's passing, but he didn't care all too much. Not after all the yelling and screaming.

"How long has it been?" Gerard asked, standing over a fresh pot of coffee.

"Six years? Seven? I... can't remember." Erik sat at the kitchen table trying to focus on anything but the voice yelling in his head telling him to leave once more.

Gerard grunted, pouring them each a cup in silence. "I wanted to apologize," Erik continued, "I shouldn't have left the way I did."

Gerard turned for a moment, eyeing his son thoughtfully.

"I should've left a note or something... anything."

Gerard didn't reply as he took up the seat across from Erik, placing a plain navy blue ceramic mug in front of him. The childhood rage that had prickled his heart once before returned to him, building slowly. He swallowed, gripping hard onto his cup as he waited for a reply.

"Why'd you come back?"

Erik found the courage to look at him. He hadn't thought about it, why he had come back. The entire drive was a blur to him, he didn't think twice about what he was doing when he had left his condo earlier that evening.

Erik shrugged. "I guess I just thought we both deserved a fresh start."

Tears pricked his father's eyes as he stared into the blackness of his coffee. "After everything I've done to you?"

Erik watched as his father fall apart in front of him, unsure how to react. In the nineteen years before leaving, not once did he remember such emotion coming from a man like him. The father he knew only had two emotions: anger and apathy. When it wasn't silent, it was loud. When it wasn't loud, it was silent. The most amount of love Erik received was during his birthday and Christmastime, but as he grew older he realized it was not love. No amount of presents or candles on a cake could ever replace the gaping hole that was left in the absence of a hug.

"I'm sorry," he sniffled. "There are so many things I've wanted to tell you, I just-"

Gerard's words were cut short by Erik's hand on his. His father met his eyes through a blur of tears. "It seems we both have our regrets," Erik spoke softly. "Shall we start anew?"

Gerard nodded slowly, accepting Erik's proposal. Erik smiled in return. "I'm glad to be back, dad."

* * *

"I'm not going."

Erik had avoided the topic for the past month. He thought maybe Nadir wouldn't bring it up, that by some miracle he would let it slide knowing how Erik felt about large events. He should've known though. Nadir always acted as if he was blind to Erik's own wishes.

Every year the company would put on a party for employees and their families to celebrate another successful year in the business. It was always great for mingling and bonding; the company strived to make work feel less like work and more like being at home with family. Erik, however, was not the least bit interested.

Nadir's fork had fallen from his hand onto the plate below in a loud clatter. "Why not?"

Erik gritted his teeth. "I'm busy."

"Busy with what? Watching documentaries?"

Erik sighed heavily, realizing there was no use in lying. "I'm not going. Must I need an excuse? I just don't want to go."

"Erik-"

"Why must you bother me with this?"

"You need more friends, Erik. All you've got right now is me and Ayesha and that girl you go to watch every Thursday night."

"Who ever said _you_ were my friend?" Erik sipped his water as he watched Nadir's eyes roll into the back of his head. "Besides, _that girl_ is named Christine."

"Well don't you think _Christine_ would like to accompany you to the party?" Erik raised his brow questioningly. "It's just a suggestion, Erik. You could get a little date in and I wouldn't be stuck with Remy and his constant pandering all night."

Erik chuckled, recalling the first time he'd met Remy. He was a small, pitiful man. Afraid of everything from his own shadow to what lied beneath Erik's mask. Nadir had tried telling the man that Erik was not one of the lizard people from one of his made-up stories, but he wasn't buying it.

"I guess your corner of the office is still held hostage by his conspiracy theories?" Erik teased.

Nadir rolled his eyes. "Just yesterday he was informing me that the sun and the moon were both created by the government as part of some large-scale mind control scheme."

Erik laughed incredulously, imagining the wide-eyed, thin-haired man saying the words himself.

"So…" Nadir steered the conversation back. "Will you think about it? For my sake?"

Erik pursed his lips, focusing his eyes on the tip of his straw as he set his cup down. "Maybe."

The streets were busy just as they were any given day of the week at lunchtime. They weren't about halfway back when Erik had stopped at the sight of a flower shop across the street, struck by a sudden idea.

"Is something wrong?" Nadir had turned, realizing Erik was no longer walking by his side.

"Nothing," Erik replied with an unusually happy smile. "Go along with me. I won't be long getting back." Nadir watched with concern as Erik walked away, crossing the street with a crowd of people.

Erik admired the little bundle of roses as he neared the street of the bar. He'd started to believe that maybe he shouldn't have gotten flowers. It was old fashioned, after all. When was the last time he'd ever seen a couple with a bundle of flowers? He tried focusing on what her reaction might be; if she'd smile or blush. What if she didn't like the flowers? What if she wasn't interested? _No,_ Erik told himself. _She'll like them._

He stilled as soon as he reached the street, his eyes falling on her place of work. He realized _exactly_ why she'd laughed and teased him for being a gentleman. She worked at a woman's intimates store.

Erik was about to turn around when he watched a young couple exit, a man holding the door for his smiling lady. _No,_ he told himself, _I can do it. It's normal. Completely… normal._

By the time he'd approached the glass door, he lost all courage once more. What was he thinking? He was a grown man, absent of a girl by his side. It would at least make sense walking in as a couple. Movement from inside the store startled him and he rose to his full height, looking in at the girl who'd inspired the idea for his romantic gesture while she stood straightening merchandise unknowingly. She must've felt him staring or noticed the lingering shadow of his figure in the corner of her eye because she looked up, her eyes meeting his with a similar startled jolt. She smiled and waved him in.

Erik had been holding the bundle of roses behind his back when he approached the front door and held them there as he entered, taking in his new surroundings of colorful lace and perfumed air. "Welcome, sir. Is there anything I can help you with today?"

Erik looked up half expecting the girl in front of him not to be Christine. It hadn't sounded like her voice, yet it was. She laughed quietly at the expression in his eyes and mouth. "Is there anything you came in for?"

Erik shook his head. "Just you."

She laughed. "Well, sadly I'm not on sale."

He pulled the bundle of roses out from behind him, pushing them towards her and watching as her face eased into surprise. "Oh!" she softly exclaimed. "Are these for me?"

Erik noted the blush of her cheeks as her head tilted back up so she could regard him with her blue eyes. He nodded slowly, trying to not lose himself in the shower of color from her expression. "Yes. For you."

Christine took the small bundle into her hands with a shy smile, her fingers brushing against his for a brief, exhilarating moment that sent butterflies fluttering throughout his chest. Erik cleared his throat as he steeled himself. He hadn't prepared his words, he realized. He was so focused on what her reaction might've been to the flowers, but now he was kind of grateful he'd been so distracted by that small moment. He'd forgotten to worry about how she'd react to his next words. "I was wondering if maybe you'd like to… there's a party this Saturday where I work and-"

"Yes!" Christine smiled, her shoulders jumping slightly. "I'd love to."

Erik quietly sighed in relief, his chest tightening with warmth. "Alright. I'll pick you up then?"

Christine nodded. "Yes. What time?"

"Uh…" Erik scraped through his mind to find the time of the event. "I'm not quite sure yet, but I'll text you as soon as I know, alright?"

Christine's manager peeked into the room from behind Erik and shot her a threatening glance. "Where do you get your cologne from?" Christine asked suddenly, her voice changing back to the stranger's that had greeted him when he entered.

"M-my cologne?" Erik stuttered in confusion.

"Come," Christine said, turning for the back of the store. "Most people know us for our lingerie, but we're also quite well-known for our perfumes and colognes."

"Really?" Erik asked, playing along with a voice that sounded a bit too intrigued.

"Yessir. Let me show you." Christine spoke as if she were announcing it to the entire store. She stopped at the perfume display, gently setting her bundle of roses down in front of a row of cologne bottles. She pulled a dark bottle from the bottom of the display along with a test strip and spritzed a generous amount in one pump. She smiled as she handed the strip over.

"You don't have to get anything," she whispered as he brought the strip to the nostrils of his mask. "I just want to talk to you a little longer."

Erik chuckled quietly. "I really should be getting back to work myself." He watched the twinkle in her eyes dwindle as her mouth dropped into a small frown. "But I'd much rather extend my stay."

The upper corners of Christine's lips twitched back into a smile. "Let me show you this one, sir. It's my favorite of our most recent release."

Christine replaced the dark bottle and pulled a clear one with a gold cap. She sprayed the cologne onto a fresh paper strip and handed it over. Erik brought it to his nose, inhaling swiftly. "Is that orange?" he asked.

"Fruit notes and sea salt if I remember correctly," Christine said matter-of-factly.

"And this is your favorite?" he asked, gazing at the bottle.

"Mhmm," Christine smiled. "You may also like-"

"I'll take it."

Christine looked to Erik in surprise for a moment and leaned forward in another whisper. "Are you sure? They're-"

He shrugged. "I need to upgrade my cologne." That and he wanted to smell good for her. If it was a scent she enjoyed, he wanted her to smell it all the time; tuck her cheek into it, kiss it softly, fall asleep in a blanket of it. If it was his scent, maybe she'd love him just as much as she loved it.

She pulled a new box for him from below the display, unlocking a drawer. "Here you go, sir," she smiled, setting the box in his hand. "Is there anything else I could help you with?"

Erik smiled, amused by this overly enthusiastic corporate zombie of a Christine. "Actually, there is. I was wondering, what might be your favorite women's perfume?"

Christine blinked for a moment, remembering her character. "Ah, yes! This one is my favorite." She rounded the display and picked up a pink bottle to show him. She again followed the routine of spraying and giving.

Erik smiled, trying to decipher the notes. "Peach? Apple?"

"And rose and jasmine."

"Do you wear this one often?"

Christine laughed warmly. "I may work here, but that doesn't mean I can afford everything."

Erik inhaled the sweet scent of it once more, imagining it floating off of her as she was near. "Can I get this in a bottle as well?"

Christine eyed him in confusion for a moment before she moved to unlock the drawer and pull a brand new box for him.

"Thank you for your help today, uh…" Erik leaned over the counter, squinting at her nametag as she stood behind the register. "Christine."

She held back a small snort of laughter, smiling as she bagged his items. "Your total is $349.62."

Erik held his hand to his chest as if he'd been shot in the heart, mockingly grimacing. Christine laughed in amusement at his little display and he slid his card into the card reader. "You know, you're quite persuasive, Christine. They should really give you a raise," Erik spoke aloud.

She blushed in slight embarrassment, pulling his receipt after it finished printing. "Thank you for visiting us today, sir. Come visit us again soon."

"Oh I will," Erik smiled, waving as he left.


	6. Chapter 6

Purple dress, off-the-shoulder; green dress, leaf print; blue dress, floral print. Christine wasn't sure what he'd like most. Should she ask what he's wearing and try to match with him? Should she go purchase a new dress?

A light knock at the door drew Christine out of her own world. She set the dress in her hands on the edge of her bed beside others and cracked the door open, allowing Radiohead's _Ok Computer_ to float out into the hallway. Mamma stood behind the door, greeting her with a smile. "Would you like to help me with dinner?"

"Sure," Christine smiled and turned to stop her record player in the far corner of her room. Mamma entered behind her and took in the scene, several dresses piled atop Christine's bed.

"Were you planning on going somewhere tonight?"

Christine's music came to a halt at the turn of a knob. "Not tonight. I'm going to a party Saturday."

"Your band got a gig?"

"No, Erik invited me along to an event at his work."

Mamma grinned. "A date?"

Christine clenched every muscle in her jaw to avoid blushing. "No. Nothing like that. Just a party. Two friends."

Mamma's incredulous laughter filled the room, burning Christine's cheeks as it rang in her ears. "Are you sure that's how he feels about it?"

Christine raised her brow and Mamma's eyes fell upon the roses strung over her bed's headboard. Christine had hung them there so they could dry out and she could preserve them.

"I'm just saying you should consider it, Christine. He seems like a nice man and I saw the way he looked at you when-"

"I'm not going to date again anytime soon, Mamma." Christine tore her gowns from the bed and hung them back in her closet.

"Oh, Christine…"

"You don't even understand," Christine sobbed, her shoulders trembling with her. "I _loved_ him and h-he..."

Mamma folded Christine into her arms as she struggled to remove the words in her throat, holding her tight. "It's okay, Christine," she consoled. "You'll be fine."

"I can't do it, Mamma. I can't go with Erik."

Mamma pulled Christine back and looked her in the eye. "Why not?"

"Every time I'm around him, he makes me feel… I just _can't._ It _hurts._ "

Mamma held Christine's cheeks between each of her hands. "Have you not seen the way he looks at you, Christine? I've seen Raoul look at you, but never like that."

Christine's tears seized and her brows furrowed. "How does he look at me?"

Mamma smiled, her Christine finally coming through. "His eyes would wait an eternity for yours, Christine. That's all I can say to describe it."

Christine felt the wings tickle the walls of her stomach as she recalled his eyes. They were the loveliest shade of amber and sometimes they'd crackle with gold as they held her gaze. She wanted to drown in their honey blaze.

Mamma's hands fell slowly onto Christine's shoulders. "Take your time, Christine. If he loves you the way his eyes love yours, he'd wait forever for you."

Christine stood in front of her apartment complex waiting for his car to pull up. Mamma had helped her select a dusty pink dress from her closet with layers of mesh and lace. It was elegant and grown up yet youthful, ending right at her knee caps. It had been a while since she'd dressed up, _truly_ dressed up for a nice night out. Not for the dead or for a job but for herself.

Erik arrived, pulling into the taxi lane to move out of traffic's way.

"Hey," Christine smiled, entering the vehicle. A light scent of citrus and ocean water crawled into her nose as she shut the door. "You smell nice."

Erik chuckled and he pulled a wrapped box from his center console, handing it to her. "For me?" she asked, half surprised.

Erik glanced at her, smiling before shifting his car back into drive. "Open it."

Christine turned the box to where it was taped and ripped the wrapping paper, revealing a floral pink box still in its plastic wrapping. "I wonder where you got this from," Christine laughed. She pulled the wrap off and opened the box, the little pink bottle she'd been admiring for some time now finally hers. "Thank you."

Erik smiled. "Put it on."

"Right now?"

"Yeah."

Christine ran her thumb over the perfume bottle's cap. She pulled the cap off and pumped a generous spritz onto the underside of her neck.

"You know," Christine began as she capped and slipped the bottle into her purse, "When you were buying the perfume, I thought you might have been shopping for your girlfriend."

Erik laughed awkwardly, almost painfully at her words. "I would never bring flowers to another woman and ask her out if I already had someone else in my life."

Christine flushed. "Well, that makes one man," she muttered. Erik glanced at her a moment, wondering what she meant, but refrained from asking.

Christine gripped tightly onto her purse, feeling the words in her throat before she spoke them. Her mind begged her not to, and she was not going to, but something had gone haywire in her system and the words slipped.

"Is this a date?" she asked. Her heart raced as soon as she realized what she'd done, hearing her own words as if a stranger spoke them. There was a pregnant pause before he answered and she started devising a plan to jump out of the car before she could embarrass herself any more for the night.

"I don't know. Do you want it to be?"

Christine fumbled in her reply. "I-I'm not sure." She turned to him and furrowed her brows nervously. "Do… do you?"

He couldn't deal with that look, the look of an innocent girl. He saw it in his peripheral, in the little twinkle of her bright blue eyes. His mind raced with a million ways to reply. Grab her hand, stop the car and confess, lie and tell her he didn't care. "Not unless you want it to be," he decided. There. It was back on her shoulders.

Christine did not answer and settled deeply back in her seat to watch the city pass by before it was all lost to an underground parking deck. She wasn't sure what she wanted. Feelings were all jumbled up within her, lost in a sea of doubt and self-pity. She just wondered what he wanted.

"Nadir's going to be happy to see us," Erik said as they began their walk towards his workplace. "I actually didn't plan on coming."

"What changed your mind?" Christine asked, throwing her purse crossbody.

Erik shrugged. "Someone said they'd like to go with me."

Christine smiled knowing she was that someone and took his arm slowly as if not to startle him by it. She felt his eyes fall upon her face and she wanted to look up, but Mamma's words rang through her mind. _His eyes would wait an eternity for yours._ She made them wait.

"Ah, there it is!" Erik exclaimed as they turned the corner.

Christine pulled her eyes off the cement sidewalk and looked up to the forty-story building ahead of them. Her heart stopped and hardened in her chest at the sight of it, her arm tightening around his as it did so.

Erik laughed. "I know. I felt the very same way when I went in for my interview. It's a horribly intimidating sight, is it not?"

Christine swallowed. "You could say that."

"Is something wrong, Christine?" Erik had stopped, holding her arm firmly so she would as well. He noticed the look in her eyes: the look of anxiety on the edge of a panic attack. Something was wrong. Something was wrong and he knew it.

Christine hesitated in her response, swallowing back her desire to spill everything. "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine," she replied in what was intended to come out as more than a whisper.

Erik's hand slipped out from her arm and took her hand. Christine lost her ability to breathe as he met her gaze with soft eyes. A girl could lose herself in those eyes, drown in their honey embrace. The stark white of his mask defined them even more and distracted from the question of what was underneath, because immediately what mattered was what lied within that sea of honey.

"Christine, tell me," he demanded.

Christine swallowed once more to steel herself. "I'm just nervous. It must be a big party," she said trying to make her voice sound more convincing. To her relief, it worked, and Erik smiled.

"It'll be alright. We can make it through together."

She smiled back and Erik squeezed her hand lightly before slipping his arm back into hers.

Erik wasn't familiar with the floor, but it was larger than the floor he worked on and obviously used to show off for large events. It was crowded. Possibly not as crowded as the event would've been had it been open to customers, but crowded nonetheless.

"Erik!" Nadir spotted him walking in with Christine from the hall and began approaching. "I'm so glad you could make it. And with Christine!"

Christine smiled at the excited man before her. "Nice to see you again, Nadir."

"Ah! She remembers me!" Nadir laughed. "Come, let me show you two the dessert spread. It's legendary."

Christine still held tight to Erik's arm as they made their way past groups of people talking and laughing amongst one another. Several people crowded around a long dessert table where three tiered stands stood in a line, each with a different dessert all from cupcakes to eclairs.

"Wow," Erik said in awe at the amount of food.

"I wish you could've seen it last year. This is a _major_ upgrade."

Nadir, Erik, and Christine stood around talking and laughing like everyone else, picking off the hors devours and sipping from their glasses as they waited for the main event to begin.

A series of clinks on a glass broke through the cloud of voices and everyone silenced as they turned towards the center of the room where the noise had come from. The company CFO stood on a table with an empty champagne glass in hand. He looked around to everyone circled around him and smiled. "Thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate our _thirtieth_ anniversary."

The crowd applauded. "Thank you, thank you," the man nodded smiling, waiting for them to silence once more. He continued on talking about the company's history and how they've grown exponentially since they first started, expressing how they're humbled to have such a wonderful staff supporting them. "Anyways, I've been rambling for some time now. I think our CEO would like to get a few words in before we pop open these bottles of champagne. Please give a warm welcome to our CEO, Raoul De Chagny."

The crowd erupted into applause as the CFO stepped off the table and the CEO took his place. Christine's hand found Erik's arm and squeezed it urgently. Erik's clapping seized and he turned to Christine to find her eyes in a state of full panic. Before he could ask what was wrong, Christine was pulling him out of the room and into the hallway where no one else was. Her cheeks were covered in tears when she finally turned to him and removed her hand from his arm.

"Christine," he cried, holding her by the shoulders.

"We have to go," she said between sputtered breaths.

Erik squeezed on her tighter, pulling her closer slightly as he searched for her eyes. "Why? What happened?"

"Nothing, Erik. Let's just go."

"Not until you tell me, Christine."

She wiped away her tears and took a moment to breathe, ignoring the voice trailing out from the other room as much as she could manage. Erik pulled her to a couch where he sat patiently beside her, waiting as she calmed herself before she spoke.

"We were engaged," she began.

" _We?_ "

"Me and Raoul. We were engaged."

Erik stared in surprise for a moment. "What happened?"

Christine began crying once more as laughter flowed out into the hallway. "He fell in love with another woman after we'd been engaged for a year, and called off the wedding a month before it could even happen."

"What?" Erik gritted. "That piece of shit." He stood suddenly, violently, and turned in the direction of the voice.

"Where are you going?" Christine panickedly moved to the edge of the couch.

"To give him a taste of what he deserves."

"No! Erik, please, don't!"

Christine was too slow trying to catch up to Erik as he stormed back into the room, pushing past people and ignoring their irritated grunts. He made it to the center where Raoul had taken back to the floor to open the first bottle of champagne.

"Mr. De Chagny!" Erik yelled. Raoul turned towards him and Erik's hands found their way to his collar, pulling him off the ground. The room that was once full of silent anticipation was now filled with whispers of shock and confusion. "What makes you think it's fine to see another woman when you're already engaged?"

Christine had finally pushed her way through the crowd, coupling their grunts with her soft replies of "Sorry."

Raoul looked towards her as she appeared by the impending man holding him high. "Christine?" he choked, hands clawing away at Erik's.

Christine ignored him and went straight to Erik, tugging hard on his sleeve. "Stop, Erik! Please! Let him down!"

A security officer found his way through the crowd, demanding Erik let go of Raoul. Erik did so reluctantly, setting Raoul back on the floor with an added expression of disdain. Nadir took Christine's arm, pulling her away from Erik and back through the crowd. She cried the entire way to his car.

The silent rumble of the road soothed her and she leaned her head against the passenger side door. "He didn't listen to me. I told him not to and he didn't listen," she sulked as her tears began to cease.

Nadir sat for a moment trying to think of how to reply. "Erik is… passionate. If he really wants to do something, he does it. There's not much stopping him." He turned to her a moment. "But he never does things without good reasoning."

"But he stopped when that officer told him to." Christine felt something of betrayal tighten within her stomach. "Why not me?"

Nadir shrugged. "He probably thought you'd be easier convincing to forgive him. Law enforcement isn't as much."

Christine fingered the strap of her purse. "Do you think he's going to jail tonight?"

"I don't know, Christine. Even if he does, I'll bail him. He can take care of himself until then."

Christine wanted to ask more, but she was too exhausted from the night's events to speak further and kept her words to directions.

"Thank you, Nadir," she said, offering a small smile as they pulled up to her apartment complex.

"It's no problem. I'm sorry about… everything. I hope you can forgive him. He likes you, you know?"

Christine's hand had found its way to the door's handle, ready to leave and crawl into bed for the rest of the night, but she paused at his last couple of words. Her brows furrowed as her eyes searched his for a hint of lie.

"I… I know I probably shouldn't be the one telling you, but he never will actually make the first move. He might ask you out to things, but he'll never, you know, kiss you or anything like that unless you initiate it. He's just afraid."

Christine's toes curled at the thought of him being just as afraid as she was, that she was going to have to be the one to kiss first. "He's adorable," she muttered, speaking her thoughts aloud.

Nadir laughed lightly. "I'm glad you think that. Most people think otherwise."

"Why's that?"

Nadir sighed. "Before you came around, Erik was a bit more rough around the edges."

She cocked her head, struggling to imagine him anything but the kind and caring Erik she knew. "How so?"

Nadir shrugged. "He wasn't truly satisfied with his life. Ever since I've known him, he's been constantly searching for purpose. When he doesn't have anything, he loses himself and starts closing himself off from the world."

Christine felt a rush of warmth in her chest. "And I've been the one to convince him to open back up?"

"I can't think of anything else that has done it."

Christine hugged Nadir tightly. "Thank you again, Nadir."

Mamma was already in bed and Christine was grateful to avoid what would have been the inevitable barrage of questions for having only been gone two hours. Her head hit the pillow as soon as she was in her room, not taking off her dress. She was somewhere between a state of consciousness and dreaming when her phone went off, message after message lighting up her screen and signaling the little _ting_ of her ringtone. She was tempted to open the messages and read them, at the least check who it was, but instead she shut her phone off entirely and settled back into her pillow.


	7. Chapter 7

"I never cheated on her," the tawny-haired man argued. "I loved her-"

"Bullshit," Erik gritted.

The security officer had taken both Erik and Raoul out from the party and off to a separate meeting room to talk. Mr. De Chagny was considering releasing Erik without pressing charges, but having a civil conversation had become apparently near to impossible.

Raoul breathed deeply in an attempt to calm himself before speaking further, trying to choose words that would not provoke the man in front of him. "She's beautiful, I'm sure we can both agree on that, but she wasn't ready for a life with me. She needed something else. Although she wouldn't admit it, and I'm sure she wouldn't admit it now even, she wasn't entirely happy with me. I was always traveling and making big business arrangements; and she always wanted to stay here, stay put."

Raoul sighed as he tried recalling the previous year and the events leading up to him breaking up their relationship. "I had found someone new-a girl who liked adventure and traveling, someone who could appreciate my lifestyle. I fell in love, but I never acted on it. Maybe had a few business dinners, but I never touched her or anything of that sort." Erik's hand fisted beneath the table and he bit his tongue to refrain on commenting, making a small effort to listen.

"I wished to carry on with Christine," Raoul continued, "Marry her as I planned, but I started having dreams." The man shifted in his seat and began recalling what had pained him to end everything with Christine. "She was depressed when she was with me. Everything I did couldn't satisfy her and then one day she had found out I loved someone else and she was mad at me for never telling her. It was a nightmare, a recurring one at that. One morning I woke up and I knew what I had to do. It wasn't easy, but I thought it was the best for the both of us. She may not understand and I don't care if she ever does, but all that matters to me is that she ends up finding someone who can truly make her happy."

Raoul's eyes became clouded with tears and Erik's gut twisted in shame for acting so swiftly and wishing death upon someone whose story he didn't even consider. Yet still, he felt pained for Christine. He wondered if she knew of the dreams, if Raoul had explained to her or tried to. Had she listened, if so? Or was she too upset to listen?

"Do you love her?" Raoul asked suddenly, desperate for an answer.

Erik picked up his shoulders and returned his posture back to its original rigid position. "I do."

Raoul nodded. "And is she happy with you?"

Erik shrugged and shook his head unknowingly. "I'm not sure. By what I've seen, I like to think so. I'd do anything to make sure she is."

Raoul smiled and shifted in his chair to stand. "Be good to her, Erik. She needs someone caring like you, someone who actually loves her as she deserves to be loved." His smile dropped. "But I do have to say that after what you've done here tonight I can't let you continue on as a member of our team."

Erik nodded understandingly. "It would be awkward walking in on Monday morning if otherwise."

Raoul laughed lightly at the thought. "I suggest you pack whatever you have here tonight then."

As Erik stood from his chair to leave and Raoul extended his hand across the table. It took a moment for Erik to register what he wanted, and he reached across, shaking briefly before being escorted to his desk to collect his things.

The ride back to his apartment was painful with her perfume lingering and no her to look at. As soon as he parked his car, his phone was out, and their conversation on the screen.

 _Alright, I'll be waiting! See you! Drive safe!_ she had last texted in reply to his message of being on the way to pick her up. She liked using emoticons in her messages, oftentimes a heart or blushing smiley face that roused his hopes and made his heart fill with joy.

He didn't try perfecting his messages. He had spent enough time before trying to text her something that would spark a conversation only to end up scrapping everything before he could send it off. She deserved Erik. Not the washed down version of himself, the one that tried being perfect when he was truly not, but the true, honest Erik that loved her to bits and desperately needed her to allow him into her heart.

* * *

It was an agonizing five days for Erik. Christine ignored every text and call. He thought to visit Christine at work, ask her out to lunch to try and explain himself. But he didn't want to arrive at her work and upset her. The bar would be best, he realized. Even if she were to break down before him and push him away, the least he would like to do was say goodbye and commit every last of the freckles on her face to memory before he lost her forever.

It pained him that he was so close. She had considered the idea of the party being a date, had held his arm, had smiled and enjoyed herself in his presence. He thought about how he might kiss her in the car afterwards, how he might've touched her face and taken her back to back to his condo. He could've had her for the night, let her know he loved her and wanted her in his life forever.

All until.

Erik sat at the bar and ordered their nachos as her band finished up on stage. His heartbeat thrummed throughout his entire body, growing heavier and heavier as they neared the end of their set.

He forced himself to calm down when they left the stage, but as she appeared once more with her guitar case strapped to her back his heart sped up again, dropping as she walked past him without even a glance.

Erik jumped from his seat, forgetting the nachos, and ran out after her.

"Christine!" he yelled, slightly irritated. She'd ignored his texts and calls, but she was not going to ignore him any longer. "Christine!" he yelled once more and she whipped around.

He stopped a foot away from her, breathing heavily. He tried calming himself before he spoke. He hadn't thought she would even attempt to walk away from him in public, that she was too good for that. He realized that he'd been wrong and it made his heart ache that she would even think to do something to him as she was.

"You've been ignoring me, Christine," he decided to speak the obvious, afraid anything else he wanted to say would've made things worse for the both of them. She dropped her gaze and looked towards his feet. _Guilt_ , he thought. "Why?" The question was difficult to squeeze out since tears were threatening to take place of his words. Yet still, he managed to hold back in wait of a reply.

She had thought of the words a thousand times, knew already what she was going to say. "I wanted to see if you actually cared."

He looked to her in offense. Did she not think he did? After everything he'd done for her, did she not believe in the least bit that he actually cared for her?

"When Raoul broke things off with me," she bit back the tears, embarrassed she was still upset by what had occurred, "It was through text." She managed to meet Erik's eyes now through a gloss of tears. "We'd been together for seven years and he didn't love me enough to address me face-to-face." She shook her head pitifully, her next few words choked by disgust. "I don't want that again."

In one swift movement, Erik folded her into his arms and she began trembling against him, letting go of all the pain she had pushed to the side over the past year. He waited until her tears started slowing off to pull away.

"You're coming home with me tonight," he spoke softly and decisively.

"Mamma is expecting me," she argued weakly, not arguing at all.

Erik chuckled lightly and curled a lock of her hair around his forefinger in a manner that made her heart lighten. "You'll just have to call her and let her know you're spending the night."

Erik slipped his hand into Christine's and walked her to his car, taking her guitar from her and setting it in the back before opening the passenger side door for her. She made a call to Mamma on the ride to his condo building, wearily informing her that she was spending the night with a "very good friend". After hanging up, she settled her head against the window and closed her eyes, nearly drifting off entirely before they'd reached their destination.

Erik exited the car, pulling her guitar case onto his back. Christine started to rouse from her light sleep and she exited the car as well, a pair of lithe arms scooping her up before she could even close the passenger side door. Erik offered her a gentle smile as he closed the door with his foot, and carried her up to his floor.

Ayesha greeted them as soon as the door opened, crying loudly for attention as she rubbed her side up against the leg of a dining chair.

"I know, girl. I'm sorry it's late."

Christine lifted her head from his chest and peered down at the cat, smiling sleepily. "Hello again, Ayesha."

Erik carried her to his bedroom and set her upon his bed, careful in transitioning her weight from his arms to the mattress. Christine smiled gratefully at him through a flutter of eyelashes.

"Goodnight," he whispered, starting to turn back towards his bedroom door.

"Wait," Christine said, lifting herself onto her elbows. "Can you pull out my purse from the back pocket of my case? I need to put my contacts away."

Erik pulled her case around, unzipping the front pocket and pulling out a small blue cross-body bag.

"Thank you," she smiled as he handed it to her. She unzipped her purse, pulling a plain white contact case from the inside.

"Do you wear glasses as well?" Erik asked, intrigued that he hadn't even noticed her contacts.

"Sometimes at home, but never out," she replied, pulling a contact from her eye with the lightest touch of her fingertip.

"I bet you look adorable in them," he thought aloud. Christine's cheeks colored as she registered his words. She wanted to argue once more with him, but he'd already made his way to the bedroom door and she was too exhausted to put up a fight. "Goodnight, Christine."

She placed her final contact lens in her case. "Goodnight," she responded, and he shut the door, leaving back to his living area.

Ayesha sat on the back of the couch, whining loudly once more. "Shh," he hushed her. "She's trying to sleep."

Ayesha responded with another loud mewl as Erik crossed the room to set Christine's guitar case by his piano.

"I don't care, you're not the only lady in my life," he argued and stopped to realize that he'd completely lost it and was now speaking to his cat as if she were an actual human having a conversation with him.

Ayesha cried out once more and he moved to the kitchen to fix her some wet food. "There," he settled, placing her bowl in front of her. "Happy?"

Ayesha licked at her food contently and Erik shed his suit jacket, realizing he was going to settle for sleeping fully clothed for the night, unwilling to disturb Christine's sleep in order to pull out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from his dresser for the night.

He settled on the couch, falling asleep to the sound of philosophers philosophizing on the possibility of aliens playing in the background on his television. He hadn't been asleep but five hours when a gentle hand was shaking his shoulder to wake him.

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry for the short chapter. Getting behind on my writing... Tried an attempt at a Raoul that isn't a complete asshole since it pains me to always do him like that. Let me know what you guys think. Thanks for reading as always!_


	8. Chapter 8

Erik woke with a start, jumped practically, into an upright position. Christine had taken a step back, alarmed by his sudden jolt. He was not used to having company in his home and had completely forgotten that she was there.

"I'm sorry to wake you," she apologized in the sweetest voice possible, "But I've started my week and it's sort of heavy… could you possibly go out and get me some stuff? I-I'll give you my card."

Erik stared at her for a moment, trying to piece together her words as his mind slowly drifted back to him.

"My period," she elaborated, mistaking his long gaze for confusion.

"I-I know what you meant. Just… give me a second to gather myself. I'll go get you something."

Erik lifted himself off the couch using his knees as leverage. Christine ran off to collect her phone and send him a message detailing what she wanted. He looked to the clock on the microwave in his kitchen and groaned. 4:13 in the morning. Much too early for his taste, even being the night owl he was.

"Here's my card," Christine said, walking back through the door. "The pin is-"

Erik held his hand up to silence her and reject her offering. "It's fine. I've got it."

"A-are you sure?" She wanted him to allow her to pay for something, _anything._ Especially at least this.

"You are no financial burden on me. I've got it all taken care of." He managed a weary smile as he pulled his jacket back over his shoulders.

"Thank you," she said, weakly smiling back.

Erik approached her, lifting his hand to push back one side of her hair behind her ear. "I'll be right back," he promised. "Don't make too much of a mess while I'm gone. You neither!" he added as Ayesha entered his vision.

Christine laughed, and with that, he was out the door.

He stood in the feminine products aisle, his phone opened on their conversation and his eyes searching frantically for the brand she'd sent him. God, why did there have to be _so many_ _options_?

"May I help you, sir?"

Erik turned in alarm to find a girl standing at the edge of the aisle, hair dark as ink, eyes just the same, and a slightly amused smile tugging at her lips. She looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Don't tell me," she said, her smile widening to show a neat row pearly teeth, "You don't happen to be Erik, do you?"

He froze still. How did she know his name? Where was this girl from?

She burst into laughter as his mouth dropped open to speak without much accomplishment. "I thought so!"

He waited for her laughing to subside before she explained herself. "I'm Meg," she said, finally having calmed herself down. "Christine has told me a lot about you."

It struck him then. Meg. The girl from Christine's band. "Oh!" he laughed in realization. "Yes! Meg! I recognize you."

She chuckled. "Is there anything I can help you with?" Her eyes shot back to the shelves.

Erik looked back at the selection in front of him, laughing awkwardly now. "Actually, I'm having trouble finding this brand." He turned the phone over to her.

She chewed the inside of her cheek as she examined the message. "Ah, yes… they're right over here." She led him further down the aisle, pulling two boxes for him.

"Thank you," he replied smiling as she handed the boxes and phone over.

"Christine usually likes to take bubble baths when she's on her period," Meg added. "I thought you might like to know."

Erik froze for a second, wondering how she knew he was purchasing things for Christine. It struck him that the messaging app showed people's names at the top of the conversation.

"I don't have anything for a bubble bath."

"Would you like to get some solution?" she asked. "I know her favorite scent. And chocolates! Girls always like chocolate."

"I guess I could get some-"

Her smile widened further and she cut him off. "Great! Let me show you."

Meg, Erik came to learn, was Christine's closest friend. In the short walk to the bathing aisle, she'd revealed to him a small sliver of their history. They'd met when they were just five years old in a small afterschool ballet class they were pushed into by their parents. The girls bonded over their family's similar background being in the fine arts. Meg's mother was a ballerina when she was younger; Christine's father, a violinist.

"We loved classical music. I adored Tchaikovsky, she adored Mozart. I guess we were just destined to be friends." She looked over her shoulder at Erik, a sort of nostalgic gleam in her eyes.

A small chuckle sounded in his throat. "And now you two are in a hard rock band together?"

Meg laughed. "We've got a large palette."

She stopped before a row of bubble bath solutions, searching for a moment before finally finding what she was looking for. Bending over, she pulled a small purple bottle of lavender-scented bubble solution from the bottom of the shelf and handed it over to Erik.

"Now for chocolate," she said decisively.

Erik returned home, a single bag full of full of raspberry-filled dark chocolate squares, bubble solution, and feminine products in his hand. He'd spent nearly a solid hour out, most of it spent talking—more like listening—to Meg's stories about her and Christine. He'd found out that Christine loved horror movies, especially cheesy ones from the 70s and 80s, and that she also liked walking around shopping centers for hours on end, looking around without truly buying anything. Her favorite places to browse were home good stores where the girls would look at the decor on sale and discuss where they'd put what if they had a house of their own.

"I'm back!" he called out, setting the bag on the kitchen counter before removing his jacket.

Christine appeared out from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her waist, her jeans absent, and his bed sheet in one hand. He eyed her in confusion.

"I'm sorry." Her voice sounded shaky as if she were on the verge of tears. "I thought I would be able to clean it, but-"

"It's fine," he said, approaching with a hand out to take the sheet from her. He bundled it up into his arms and shot her a forgiving smile. "I'll wash it. Your bag of stuff is over on the counter."

Christine padded over to the counter as he left for his washroom. She gasped at the sight of her favorite self-care products and ran off to the bathroom with the entire bag.

It was early in the morning, she knew, but it had been some time since she'd last enjoyed a bubble bath and she just couldn't help herself. Besides that, the comforting memories of falling asleep with a blanket of lavender covering her skin seemed most pleasant especially at the moment feeling quite embarassed for having made a mess of herself in front of the guy she liked.

A knock at the door sounded as she began drizzling a generous amount of solution into the tub while it filled. "Come in!" she yelled over the running water.

Erik entered behind her with a fresh set of clothes for her to change into, setting them upon the sink's counter. He had changed into his own pair of clothes for the night as well; a pair of gray sweatpants and a thin white t-shirt that, if he pulled it up, would keep from revealing the edge of the scaly, puckered skin on his chest. Christine turned to him with a smile as she knelt on the floor, one hand in the tub's water to make sure it didn't cool down too much as she turned the cold water knob a little further.

"I hope you don't mind that I do this right now." Her head dropped with a sigh. "I should've asked first, I know, but I got excited."

Erik laughed. She could hear that he was tired. Every time he'd laughed, the final one wasn't as even or loud as the previous.

"You can go to bed," she said, sounding as if she did not want to say it. "I'll finish up in a little while. You don't have to stay up because of me."

"It's fine," he replied, adding in the softest chuckle of the night. "I enjoy talking to you."

Christine's lips slowly pulled into a smile, her heart faltering for a moment. She pursed her lips together as she thought. "You could sit on the other side of the door if you'd like." Erik tilted his head toward her, wondering what she meant. "You know, to keep me company."

Erik swallowed slowly, pulling his posture back. He turned to the door, walking out and shutting it behind him.

The tub's water had reached a desirable level, and Christine turned the knobs back so that the water stopped.

"Erik?" she called out in a whisper.

A voice rumbled from behind the door. "Mhmm?"

She smiled. "Just wondering if you were there."

Erik tried to manage another laugh, but it only played out as a smile that she could not see. "I'm here," he assured her.

Christine undressed herself, careful to place her somewhat clean and dirty clothes in separate piles. She rinsed out her underwear so it would be clean enough for her to put back on when she dressed herself once more.

She slipped into the tub with a heavily pleasurable sigh, smiling at how the water helped relax her muscles. Bubbles of lavender surrounded her, and she sat back against the wall of the tub, closing her eyes.

"Did you happen to run into Meg at her work?"

Erik had laid down, nearly drifting off entirely. "I did," he slurred. "She was quite the help."

Christine laughed. "She knows what I like."

"Mhmm."

Christine had tilted over the side of the tub closest to the door, folding her arms on the ledge. "It was certainly kind of you to purchase all of this anyways. You didn't have to do what Meg suggested." She was certain her friend had brought it up without his asking.

Erik shrugged despite knowing she couldn't see. "She convinced me."

Christine rolled her eyes. "I doubt she needed to do that."

Silence filled between them and with that silence, a thought. A funny, little romantic thought.

Christine groaned dramatically.

Erik managed his eyes open, wondering what was wrong. "What is it?"

"I left my bag of chocolate sitting on the back of the toilet," she pouted.

Silence.

"Do you want it right now?"

Christine pursed her lips together in an attempt to push back a devious little smile. "Could you get it for me?" she asked as innocently as possible. Erik froze still. "There are too many bubbles for you to see me," she added quickly as if she knew he was uncomfortable with her request, which she had considered.

The door opened and Erik entered, avoiding looking in her direction. He gathered the bag of chocolates and handed them to her, only seeing her hand.

Before he could leave once more, she spoke out. "Would you mind sitting in here with me?"

Erik turned back again slowly, finally meeting her eyes. She offered him the most precious of smiles next to an innocent flutter of lashes. He couldn't reject her. Of course, he couldn't.

He took his seat by the tub, using the wall behind him to help keep him up. Christine opened her bag of chocolates, pulling a square from within and holding it up for Erik's taking.

He held up his hand in rejection. "I'm fine."

"But they're so good," she insisted, lifting it closer to his mouth.

He locked eyes with hers once more, seeing the same thing he'd seen the first night he met her. He leaned forward ever so slightly and bit off a corner of the square, chewing slowly.

Christine smiled and brought the square back towards herself, biting off another corner. "It's good isn't it?" she asked in between chews.

"Excellent," Erik replied, smiling wearily.

Christine finished the square as Erik leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. She wrapped up her bag and placed it on the floor between his leg and the tub.

He was so peaceful-looking, she thought. Even with the leather mask, he somehow managed to look so natural when he was tired. Her eyes traced the thin line of his lips, soft and relaxed. The little bit of his jaw that she could see was slowly slackening as his breaths grew longer and more steady. Then it was his eyes. The skin of his eyelids were partially melded and his lashes incredibly long and dark.

It pained her that she hadn't seen his face. The idea of his reaction made her heart twist as she remembered his reaction to her seeing the ruined flesh of his shoulder and chest. Every hour they grew closer and closer, and she wanted so desperately for him to allow her to accept his reality. She knew what was underneath, she'd seen pictures of burn victims before. It was hard to look at, she admitted to herself, but it was probably even harder to live with. Maybe at least she could make it a little more bearable.

Christine tilted over the edge of the tub, trying to lean towards him without revealing herself all too much. Even with the slight slosh of the water, he did not open his eyes. She grew shakier as she got nearer to him, holding her breath more and more with every inch she closed between them. Finally, she was close enough, and she pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth for a brief and sweet moment.

His eyes fluttered open, relaxed at first, then grew wide as soon as he realized how close she was and what she had done. He brought the pad of his thumb to her lower lip, swiping it across as if to check those were, in fact, the lips he had felt.

This time, he was the one to lean in, slowly as to take precaution in the case that she didn't want more. But as soon as he lips pressed against hers, he knew she did. Christine pressed back in an instant, conjuring a thankful groan from his throat. He broke away after a few moments, studying her lips as if they were something otherworldly.

"I'm going to get dressed, okay?"

It took a moment to register she had said something, and he pulled his hand away from her chin to stand, exiting the bathroom once more. He took to the couch this time, far enough to hear her in case she wanted to carry on with conversation.

He heard the door open once more and her soft feet padded out of the bathroom onto the hardwood floor.

"Do you think this is funny or something?" Her voice sounded with irritation.

Erik sat up and peeked over the couch to find her standing a few feet away, one hand holding a bunched up towel and another on her hip. He did not respond, waiting for some sort of elaboration.

"This shirt," she said, "Do you think it's hilarious or something?"

His eyes fell down to the shirt he'd pulled for her, the word _Blondie_ in a bright road line yellow appearing right next to a young Debbie Harry. Erik laughed. A full-on, hearty chuckle reverberated through him.

"Oh, so you _do_ find it funny?" Christine squinted at him as he fell back against the sofa's armrest.

He shook his head and his laughter settled. "Honestly, I didn't even notice."

She pursed her lips, giving him the most incredulous look she could manage. "Mhmm, _sure_ you didn't."

He pushed out one final chuckle, a small thing, and Christine sighed.

"Come on," she said. "You're joining me in the bed." Erik eyed her steadily, but before he could put up an argument, she fought back, "It's much too cold in here and that couch is not long enough for you to be comfortable, so you're either joining me or I'm joining you to make sure you don't freeze to death."

He smiled wearily and stood, following her off to his bedroom. He had already replaced the sheet he'd thrown in the washing machine with a robin's egg blue one from his closet, making up the bed while he was at it. Christine peeled back the comforter and crawled underneath it to the other side, holding the corner up so that he could join her. With a groan, he set himself down upon the mattress, and she threw the comforter over his shoulder, straightening it to make sure he was covered completely.

She cuddled up with him, shivering as she pressed herself against his side. "You're freezing," she grumbled.

"You're warm," he retorted with a smile.

Christine tilted her head up towards him despite not being able to see in the darkness of his room. "You see? You would be dead without me," she teased.

His hand ran across her hair and tugged at the hair tie that she'd put there to keep it up while she bathed. "I know, Christine. I've been telling myself that every day for these past couple of weeks."

He finally managed to pull her hair from the confines of its bun, and her curls fell out and over her shoulders. Her arms wrapped tight around him and her heart ceased at his words.

She gathered the courage eventually and crawled her hand up to the ribbon at the back of his head, her fingers tugging gently at the bow he'd tied there. His hand seized her wrist in an instant, and she felt her heartbeat settle in her throat.

His breath came out in short, quick bursts. "What are you doing?" For the first time that night he sounded incredibly alert, his speech not a grumble or near-slur of words.

"Erik, I-"

"Christine…" Her name sounded so pitiful now, not the lovely tune he'd seemed to make out of it before. His next intake of air caught in his throat as tears took their place on the edge of his eyelids.

"I just wanted you to be comfortable," she said in defense.

"Please," his voice cracked with a sob, "Please, just let me sleep like this."

Christine felt her heart breaking and she was sure his felt just the same. "Erik, I-I know you're tired. I'm tired too, but I'm especially tired of _this_."

Erik pushed out the most strangled cry she'd ever heard. He knew it was coming. He'd tried to convince himself that Christine was too good for it, that she wanted to play along as well, but he knew it was all too good to be true.

"Christine…" he whispered in protest.

"It's okay, Erik. I cannot see you. I can only love you."

He squeezed her wrist lightly, letting go with a certain amount of hesitation. Her fingers resumed their work, tugging the end of the bow down so the ribbon fell. She pulled the edge of his mask down and placed it behind him. She could feel his breath shaking more than she could hear it, and so she brought her hand up to his cheek, a cheek she'd never seen and could not see, and felt the scarred tissue there. His shaking grew as her palm roamed the expanse of his cheek, exploring every little imperfection with a gentle fondness he'd never known.

Her thumb found the corner of his mouth and once more she closed the gap between their lips, drinking the strangled cry that resulted from his throat. He pressed back with equally gentle pressure and the tears resumed, his heart soaring off into the heavens until she eventually broke away and wrapped her arm back around his waist.

His hand stroked away at her hair and the tears slowed. He did not hear her whisper of a "Goodnight," falling back into sleep in mere seconds.


	9. Chapter 9

Christine woke to the smell of burnt toast and a clatter of pots and pans. Erik was already up fixing breakfast, or at least trying to. He was kneeling down, one hand firm on the no-stick pan he wanted to use for cooking, and a mess of several pots around him when Christine left the bedroom. He turned at the sound of Ayesha greeting Christine, catching her mid-tip-toe.

"I'm sorry," he apologized swiftly, keeping knelt on the floor, entirely too embarrassed to stand. "I was hoping not to disturb you."

Christine laughed forgivingly and relaxed her posture. "It's fine." She shot a disapproving glance in Ayesha's direction, watching the cat trot off to her water bowl across the room.

Erik turned back to regard the mess he'd made, setting the pan he wanted on the stove top before stacking all the pots and pans back into their original order in his cabinet. The toaster finally popped up as he did, blackened toast peeking out at the top. Christine had moved closer to get a better look at the work he was doing and smiled at the sight. Erik groaned, plucking the burnt slices from the toaster and tossing them immediately into a nearby trash can.

"That's the second time," he grumbled. "I guess I need a new toaster."

"Or maybe you should make sure your toaster isn't on its highest setting," Christine laughed, eyeing the dial which had been turned far right.

Erik's lips pressed into a firm line and his hands fled to his eyes in a muffled _smack_. He sighed heavily, unable to suppress the embarrassed warmth that was rushing to his face. "I'm so sorry," he apologized once more. "I'm not good at this."

Christine laughed gently this time. "It's fine, Erik. I appreciate the effort. Why don't you let me take over? Mamma says I make a mean pancake."

Erik's hands slid down over the cheeks of his mask. He glanced back at her over his shoulder. "How can you be so perfect?" His question was practically breathless.

Christine felt a ball of warmth expand in her stomach. She wanted to laugh against his statement, but she found that she could not. An argument of words jumbled in her mind and fell away all in awe that he could ever come to such a conclusion about her.

Erik took to the couch, picking up on the documentary that was playing on the channel he'd last had his television turned to while Christine happily worked around the stove, fixing an entire stack of pancakes and a few strips of bacon from the pack he'd left out on the counter to cook.

The tune of Erik's phone when off from his coat pocket. He muttered something beneath his breath and stood, crossing the room to his coat rack to retrieve his phone. He stared at the screen a moment, trying to identify the odd number.

"Who is it?" Christine asked, noticing his perplexed frown.

"Not sure." Still, he answered and brought the phone up to his ear. "Hello?"

Christine flipped her pancake and stole a quick glance at Erik. He was oddly silent, his face entirely expressionless. But she noticed a tenseness building within him, around his shoulders like a strange aura.

"Okay," he said. "Thank you." His eyes shot up to Christine as soon as he hung up. Before she could ask anything, the words were already on his lips. "I need to go to the hospital."

* * *

"Erik, slow down."

His foot was heavy on the gas, hands clasped tightly around the steering wheel, eyes glued to the road. He had to get there quick. Before…

"Erik!"

He blinked back to life and glanced at his speedometer. Ten over the speed limit. He hit the brakes lightly, bringing it back down.

"We're trying to visit, not get admitted, right?" She hated the way she sounded when she asked it as if she didn't consider his emotions at the moment, but she completely understood.

Christine struggled to keep up with him at the hospital, his legs taking long, fast strides down the hall. His eyes searched frantically from door to door, counting down the numbers until finally, he reached his dad's room.

A nurse stood at a large whiteboard on the wall filling out a few empty boxes of information. She looked up after signing off with the date, blinking once at the masked man before her. "Are you his son?"

"Yes," he replied, imitating her slight whisper.

She smiled and capped her marker. "We're going to take him for a scan in a bit. He's having trouble speaking right now, but he seems to be somewhat alert."

Erik nodded, grateful for her information, and walked to his dad's side. He was already plugged up, his arms already victims to so many pokes and prods. He wouldn't be happy when he actually came to, Erik thought with a smile of amusement. He carefully took his father's hand and held it between each of his, watching as he slowly opened his eyes. They gazed at one another for the moment, neither of them speaking until his father closed his eyes once more, squeezing his son's hand in recognition.

Christine and Erik left for the cafeteria as he was taken away for his scan, picking up on the final few minutes of breakfast.

"I'm sorry I made us run out so soon," Erik apologized. When he was drifting off to sleep the night before, he had imagined surprising her with an entire homemade breakfast layout. Pancakes and toast and eggs and bacon. The hospital had it all, but nothing with love. Just bland, frozen foods.

Christine laughed. "It's fine, Erik. You need to make sure you're here for your father. I completely understand."

He couldn't look at her. There were way too many things running through his mind all at once for him to be able to pick up his eyes or even his fork. He wasn't hungry anymore. Even if he did make the effort to bring something to his mouth and chew it, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to swallow.

Christine placed her hand over the one he had settled beside his plate, drawing him from his trainwreck of thoughts to her touch. She slipped her fingers beneath his, carefully holding onto his ring and pinky. He gave everything away to those blue eyes once again.

"I love you, Erik."

They sat there in their own silence, the clinking and chatter of the world around them ceasing to exist. Christine retracted her hand, thinking maybe it was all too soon for him to hear; feeling as if it were all too soon to say herself. But Erik didn't let her go. As her hand began slipping away, his shot forward, pulling her hand back by his plate.

He didn't know what to say to her. As ridiculous at it was, knowing she already had his heart, he was afraid to say it back. He'd said 'I love you' to so many things before, all of which had been stripped away from him in the end. Even now, a few stories above him, the man he'd made a recent decision to finally say it to was almost ripped from his life. He didn't want to risk losing her.

Instead, he kissed her hand, sighing shakily over her the ridge of her knuckle as he did so; not speaking for the rest of their meal and praying that whatever words came after would be just as pleasing and relieving as hers.


	10. Chapter 10

First she ordered a Cosmopolitan, a dainty cocktail that almost appeared as pink lemonade with a lime tucked on its rim.

"And for you, sir?"

Erik had debated what he wanted as the bartender fixed her drink. Still, the chalkboard menu was incomprehensible as ever, but his eyes could make out a few words.

"Give me an Old Fashioned."

Christine gave a small giggle at the unsure expression of Erik's squinted eyes as the bartender twirled around to fix his drink. He glanced at her as she started sipping at her own drink, not taking her eyes off of him.

"I don't drink very often."

"I know," she smiled. "I figured that when I first met you. Either that or that you're just a lightweight."

Erik squinted at her and she giggled again, relishing in his playful irritation.

"Your drink, sir." The bartender set his cocktail on the bar in front of him and Erik thanked him with a small handful of cash and a nod.

"We've got to figure out what song we're going to sing together." Christine pulled her phone out and began scrolling through her music. "I mean, by the time we get up there we're probably going to be hammered. Should we sing something funny or romantic?"

The very idea of singing a duet with her thrilled him, but in front of a crowd, especially a crowd of people that were just as drunk, if not more by the time they finally got up there, was not entirely as thrilling. But it would be with her, he assured himself. And that's all that mattered.

He remembered what his father had told him before he left the hospital earlier that day:

"Go love her. Stop waiting around here with me. I will be fine. I've got people taking care of me."

His father had made great progress over the past couple of days, his speech improving significantly, yet still, he struggled with some words and Erik found himself to be quite good at helping him remember.

Erik had decided to stay with him everyday, not leaving except to feed the cat and to shower and change. He found he quite liked the hospital. It was quiet for the most part and the staff were friendly to both him and his father, only an occasional nurse discomforted him with constant glances in his direction.

But as his father progressed, he became more annoyed with Erik's constant presence.

"Can you tell him to leave?" he had asked Nadir.

Nadir answered with a laugh, feeling Erik's eyes rolling to the back of his head from across the room. "If he won't listen to you, he definitely won't listen to me."

"He needs to get out more often. I want him to go on a date with his girl- what's her name?"

"Christine," Erik chimed in with a grumble.

"Yes." Gerard gave himself a moment to turn back towards Erik, the next thing he said submitting the room into a dead silence.

Christine continued scrolling through her phone, stopping suddenly with a wide smile and an excited bounce on the stool. "This one!" she exclaimed, turning her phone so that he could see.

 _Don't Go Breaking My Heart by Elton John_ , he read, and smiled. "Sounds good."

Christine pushed herself off the barstool with a small, excited noise, and walked off to put their names on a list.

Erik's phone went off in his pant pocket and he pulled it out to read a message from Nadir:

 _Your dad is doing well. Heading down to grab something for dinner. How's Christine?  
_  
Erik released something of a relieved sigh, and replied:

 _Doing well. Karaoke tonight.  
_  
There was a moment before Nadir replied.

 _In public? Very unlike you.  
_  
Erik rolled his eyes, imagining Nadir's taunting tone of voice. Christine returned and Erik slipped his phone back into his pocket, choosing not to entertain his friend any longer.

"Okay, we've got a whole hour to get as much alcohol in us as possible." She pulled her cocktail to her lips once more, her eyes roaming back over the menu as if to decide what she wanted next.

"We're really going to be those people tonight?" He wasn't entirely sure if she had been joking or not when she originally proposed the idea of karaoke night to him.

"Everyone is drunk during karaoke night," she reminded him with a tilt of her head.

"That's usually because no one can sing and they don't want to remember the embarrassment of it all—their singing and others' singing."

Christine laughed hysterically at his statement, almost choking on her drink.

"But you can sing," Erik continued. "And I can sing as well."

She shot him a look of contemplation, the gears in her head moving at the back of her eyes. "That may be true, but I need a drink and so do you." Erik felt something of a tenseness within him. "Besides," she added, "I want to have fun. I feels like it's been so long since I've actually been out to, you know, _have fun_." She spoke of it as if she wasn't quite sure what it meant to have fun anymore.

Erik nodded understandingly and continued at his drink, trying to work past his disgust for the taste of alcohol. But as the night continued, the hour passing with several more orders from her and a only one extra order from him, Erik found he couldn't drink. The sweet, light giggles that bubbled up from Christine at every one of his jokes combined with the knowledge that she had gone over her limit on how much she should be allowed to drink kept him from taking his third sip of his Whiskey Sour.

"Christine and Erik!" the man on the mic called their names and Christine's back straightened, her eyes widening with surprise.

"Already?" She put her drink down and spun around, hopping off her stool. Erik followed behind and they took to the stage, grabbing their mics as they were applauded on.

It was quite horrifying being up there, he realized. The bar seemed to be a lot larger and more crowded than he had thought before. He ignored it though, focusing on the TV monitor and the startup of an orchestra blaring over the speakers.

 _Don't go breaking my heart_

 _I couldn't if I tried_

He found that, even without the alcohol coursing through his veins like a flooded river, he was able to relax. The music flowed much easier when he looked to Christine, her eyes on him as well, her body feeling the music more than he'd ever seen it when she was performing with her own band.

The song broke down into the chorus and he found her safe under his arm, her free hand over the one splayed on her stomach, her hips swiveling to the beat.

He quite liked this. The combination of their voices, their hands and eyes locking continuously, an occasional two-step and her own little dancing. He was in love. It wasn't her voice, although that had been the initial draw-in. It was her.

 _Just_ _her_.

Christine laughed blissfully as the song came to its end and the crowd applauded and cheered wild and drunkenly for their performance.

"We should do that again," Christine said as they walked back towards the bar.

Erik laughed and helped her onto her stool. "Let's get some water in you first, before you think about signing us up for another round."

"I want another drink," she pouted.

"Christine." He hadn't intended for his voice to be so stern. Tonight was meant to be about having fun, letting loose. But now here he was, earning a baffled look of surprise from her. Shocked surprise.

"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly, embarrassed by his tone.

"Is something wrong, Erik?" Her voice reflected her offense.

"No, Christine. I just-"

"I'm not any fun, am I?"

It was his turn to stare at her in shock, answering her as soon as he recovered with a shake of his head. "No, Christine. That's not it at all."

"That's why none of my bandmates want me to go out with them any more. 'It's gotta be all about you, Christine.' 'Why are you always so upset, Christine? Didn't you want to have fun tonight?' 'Why are you crying, Christine?' 'Stop being selfish, Christine,'" she mocked her friends in a high-pitched voice, lowering her head soon afterward as the tears emerged and came with ugly, garbled sobs.

"Christine!" he exclaimed in horror. "That's not-"

"Then why haven't you been drinking, Erik?" she whined, raising her glossy eyes for his viewing. "The plan was for us both to drink and lose ourselves to the music, not for only one of us to drink and start making a fool out of ourself in front of the other!"

Erik shook his head slowly, brows deeply furrowed beneath his mask. "I only stopped drinking because I care about you, Christine."

"No you don't!" she sobbed, hiding her face in her hands.

"Yes I do," he insisted. "I need to make sure you get home safe, Christine. I can't do that if I'm drunk as well."

Her crying slowed as she lifted her face from her hands. "You really do care about me?" she asked between sniffles.

"Yes, Christine. I do," he nodded.

He remembered what his father had said, the thing that silenced the room for what had felt like an entirety, neither him nor Nadir knowing how to respond:

"You must go and tell her you love her. I haven't gone a day without regretting having not told your mother the same."

Erik swallowed slowly now, lifting his thumb to swipe away a fresh tear that had left her eye. "And I love you."

To his relief, she seemed satisfied, and smiled. "Oh, Erik," she said, crying happily now.

He allowed her to throw herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. He folded her into both his arms now, closing his eyes and smiling happily, the horrible background singing and chatter of the bar around them being drowned out by the pure bliss of having her close.

She had insisted on trying to walk, moving horizontally rather than straight in the direction of the cab, nearly twisting her ankle on her heels. The rest of the walk from the cab to his condo would not be on foot for her, Erik decided, cradling her into his arms despite her groaning protest. They hadn't made it that far in when she decided she needed to use the restroom.

Erik removed her heels and dropped her onto her feet in front of the bathroom door, taking only two steps in the direction of a whining Ayesha when he heard the sound of her retching.

He pulled her hair back, gripping it in one fist as he rubbed her back with his other hand. He had a damp washcloth already prepared and handed it to her when she nodded in response to his question of whether or not she was finished. He gave her a sliver of privacy as she wiped up and flushed the toilet, filling the nearby tub with water and a generous drizzle of the bubble bath solution from her last stay.

"I might slip," she murmured as he capped the solution and set it back in its corner. He hadn't even considered it, only thinking of getting her into the tub so she could be comfortable for a while.

He helped her in anyways, averting his eyes from her as he helped her out of her dress and into the tub.

"You must think I'm a wreck."

Erik gathered the courage to look at her finally as he knew she was submerged enough into the tub water. "You're not a wreck, Christine."

He watched as tears formed in her eyes again, her lip quivering. She maintained her gaze on the cloud of bubbles before her. "I'm just a stupid girl who can't help but constantly embarrass herself in front of the guy she likes."

Erik felt his heart twist in agony, upset that she was upset with herself. "If anything, he likes you more for it." She cocked her head in his direction, her eyes blurred with tears and confusion. He lifted his hand to push a tear from continuing on its path down her left cheek. "I hate to break it to you, but this guy you like is much more stupid than you could ever be. Hell, he doesn't even know how to truly express his love to you."

Christine laughed a bit, drawing in a sniffle from her nostrils. "Maybe he should start with a kiss."

Erik smiled gently and pressed his lips to her forehead, holding for only a brief moment before pulling back to view her little smile.

Before they made it back to bed, her back in the large _Blondie_ shirt she'd worn last time, Erik made her brush her teeth and drink several cups of water, drinking a few himself. Even when they made it back to bed it seemed the night was not over.

Erik moves to turn off the lamp only to be tugged back towards the center or the bed by his arm, a smiling, sleepy Christine greeting him with a kiss. He allowed it to continue, enjoying the fresh mint still lingering on her lips, but when she moved to straddle him, lifting her leg up and over his body, he stopped her with firm hands.

They each sat there in silence, both of them wide-eyed and unsure.

"I thought you wanted to know how to love me." Christine's voice was barely even that of a whisper. Her body trembled slightly beneath his hands.

"I do," he whispered back, swallowing. "Just not like this, Christine."

"You do think me a wreck."

"No," he assured her, his voice more certain and firm. "I love you, Christine. I want to protect you and make sure you won't do anything you'd regret."

"You think I'd regret you?"

Erik took a moment to respond, her question throwing him off almost entirely. It hadn't been what he was thinking in the moment, yet still the idea had been lingering in the back of his mind, taunting him at the lowest, loneliest points of his days.

"No, Christine. That's not..." he sighed frustratedly, closing his eyes, his hands loosening themselves slightly. "I'm not the man you deserve." He breathed slowly to maintain composure. "But you're the woman that I want and I can't help myself but be afraid that I'll scare you off."

Christine shook her head slowly. "Oh Erik," she breathed, feeling unwanted tears once more. She wondered if they'd ever stop.

He kept his hands clasped around her, afraid that she might flee if otherwise, keeping his eyes closed out of fear for seeing the disgust in her eyes, picturing the judging glances of all others who would pass him on the streets being reflected in her eyes—the only eyes he felt he'd ever been free of from true judgment.

He felt her move, and did not work against her.

The image of the teenage boys from down the block flashed before his eyes. A day he had decided to take for himself, explore the woods a bit, travel along the creek that ran through his neighborhood. It had all been one huge mistake.

He tried to rid his mind of their words after they had stumbled upon him sitting on the edge of a rock, shoes to the side and his toes in the cool creek water.

"We should put it out of its misery."

"No way anyone could love something like that."

He battled the fists even at night, still trapped in that six-year-old body of his, helpless and bleeding, his screams lasting what felt like an eternity before an older woman who had been working in her back garden heard and went running towards the teens, sending them scattering off through the woods.

He flinched when Christine removed his mask, squeezing his eyelids together as tight as possible, praying his face had somehow instantly changed into something acceptable, something desirable.

Something of a distressed moan escaped him when he felt her lips press to his eyelids, first the left, then the right. He opened his eyes slowly to find her smiling down at him, her long blonde hair tucked behind her ears and her eyes so kind that, for a moment, he thought maybe the accident had not happened at all.

He wished to ask how. _How_ could she look at him so? _How_ could she so easily trace her fingers along his twisted cheek? _How_ could she make his heart flutter so easy with the smallest tweak of her gaze, the lightest graze of her fingertips? Yet he could not.

Surely he was dead, surely he was dreaming.

"If you think that this could taint what I feel for you, then maybe I could agree that you are kind of stupid."

Erik laughed slightly and her smile widened, happy to calm his nerves.

"If it was physical appearance I was looking for, I would've avoided you the second night I saw you at the bar." She removed her hand from his cheek, perching it back on his chest. "But I'll be honest with you, a man that constantly feels the need to hide behind a mask isn't exactly what I was picturing to have as a husband."

Erik wished to laugh. Of course she had not imagined having someone like him in her life. Not even his own father felt indifferent towards his face, and his mask didn't seem to make it any better. He just couldn't get past that one word. _Husband._

"So, so long as I'm around," she continued, a playful edge to her voice, "and you are comfortable, I'd like for you to keep _this_ off." She held up his mask in one hand.

He nodded understandingly, receiving a kiss to both cheeks, then his lips before she leaned over and set his mask to the side, flicking the lamp off as she did so. He helped her work beneath the covers, happy to invite her into his embrace once again, the crown of her head tucked into the crook of his neck, his arm hooked around her back.


	11. Chapter 11

He relayed to his father every detail: her kind eyes, her lovely smile, her gentle, accepting kisses. It had been a good night. And when he woke up, she still smiled! Smiled waking next to his face!

He wished to keep her there all day, maybe take her out and go for a walk in the park nearby and stop by the ice cream place she'd taken him. But she had to work, she told him and asked him to pick her up afterward.

Erik's father smiled happily seeing the warm smile on his son's face, but the smile soon faded, and silence replaced Erik's words. They sat there awkwardly for the first time since they'd reunited. It seemed they always had something to talk about since then—some conversation to make—but now there was silence. Solid silence.

"Erik, I..."

Erik turned to face his father as he struggled for words. This time Erik could tell his pause was not due to a struggle for recalling a word but rather a struggle where one wants to say many things, yet they are unsure how exactly to say it.

"I wish it had been me, not your mother."

Erik sat silent, unsure of what his father meant.

Gerard looked to the other side of the room as he continued to speak. "Your mother loved you very much. She was so excited when she found out she was pregnant with you, but I..." Erik tensed as he recognized what was coming. "I wasn't ready to get married. I knew it was what she had wanted, but I just... could not."

Erik glanced to his shoes as he waited for his father to continue. Petty, angered questions bubbled in his head and threatened to slip into his throat, but he swallowed and remained silent. Besides that, he sensed they were all about to be answered anyway.

"I loved her," he continued, "and I was happy that she was happy, but the thought of settling down with a woman so much younger than me- I was insecure; I want to say I did not wish for her to be judged, but in reality I believe it is my own character I was afraid of being judged." He exhaled a small, pitiful laugh. "I was afraid people would look at me and think I was using her, that since she was twelve years younger, I was some predator."

Erik couldn't help but shake his head at his father's irrationality. "She was still an adult, dad. Twenty-six. Old enough to decide for herself who she loved."

"I know," he whispered. "I was not right. I had made too many bad decisions. I don't know how your mother allowed me to stay. It was just that day I-"

His father fell silent, and he looked up in a panic, wanting to see what was wrong. He watched as his father cried. A mixture of emotions—awe and pity—surged through him at the sight. He'd never seen his father cry. Not once.

"She asked me to take you to daycare, but I had just gotten so wrapped up in work. I could've taken a break, but I did not, so she took you instead." He sobbed and brought his hand to shield his face from Erik's viewing. "If only I had gone... maybe she'd still be here with you. Maybe you would've known what it was like to truly have had a loving, supportive parent."

Now Erik was crying. How long had his father gone feeling this way? Had every day after his mother's passing been lived in self-blame and self-hatred? Why had he not told Erik before? Things could have been better.

"Dad, please," Erik sobbed. "It's not your fault."

"But it is!" Gerard cried. "You could've had a good childhood if it weren't for me!"

Erik leaped up from his seat to his father's bedside. "I'm fine, dad. Look at me! I'm happy," he assured through tears. "I'm fine, and mom's fine, wherever she is, and she's looking upon us, smiling. This is what she would have wanted! She would have wanted to see us happy together; father and son at last!"

They each cried as they found one another's eyes, Erik slipping his hands beneath his father's, giving a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"It's fine, dad. Everything's fine."


	12. Chapter 12

"Is everything alright, Erik?"

Erik's hands clenched the steering wheel, his body tenser than ever. Thinking about it would only make things worse, but reminding himself not to think about it wasn't helping. The idea of crying now seemed incredibly inconvenient considering what he had in mind for his evening with Christine, but he couldn't help himself.

She watched as his eyes clouded and his lips began to tremble into a frown. The sob he was trying to withhold for her sake released on a breathy note, spilling from him with force. He shook his head: his answer.

"What happened? Is your dad okay?"

Erik nodded now, blinking away his tears. "Yes, it's just- it's a long story."

Christine nodded her understanding and fell quiet.

It was the first time he'd been inside her apartment—small, yet homey in a sense. He could smell dinner cooking as soon as he walked through the front door. Making out whatever it was was practically impossible, but for him, as little as he ate, it made his stomach yearn for food.

"I'm home!" Christine announced, locking the door behind them.

She toed her shoes off into a pile of other shoes and started down a hall towards her bedroom. Erik followed after slipping his shoes off, sliding them beside hers.

Her room changed no initial impressions he'd had from the main entrance, except it was more girly—more her. A small full-sized bed was tucked into the corner by her only window, a nightstand with several books stacked atop standing beside it. Next to that was a desk littered with several makeup products and a double-sided mirror. A towel hung on her closet door, several lacey bras on the handle. In another corner stood two guitar cases.

"I'm sorry about the mess," she apologized, rushing to her closet to pull the bras off the handle and toss them into her closet where he could not see them.

Erik smiled at her hurried behavior. "It's fine," he assured her. "Don't apologize for being human."

"A messy one at that."

He chuckled and rolled his eyes as she crossed her room to the guitar cases, pulling the one he'd purchased for her.

"Ah," he remarked, "so we're having a jam session."

Christine laughed as she unzipped her case and plopped herself down on her bed, patting the spot beside her as an invitation for him to sit. He took his seat as she tuned, using each string as assistance in her tuning the next.

"I've written a few new songs," she said shyly, strumming all the strings to ensure her tuning was correct. "If you'd like to hear, of course."

He smiled as her eyes glanced up to his. "Of course."

Christine allowed herself a moment to steel herself, drawing in a deep breath. It was odd how nervous she'd felt all of a sudden. On stage, with her band, it didn't matter. Drunk in front of a crowd, it didn't matter. But here, in front of him, a song she'd written on her own—it mattered. It was her music; it was the guy she liked, and it mattered.

When her voice opened up along with the strum of a chord, everything seemed to fall away. The rush removed all her nerves, and his heart beat in time with her music's tempo.

"Beautiful," he whispered as the song reached its end.

Christine smiled and found his eyes once more. "Thanks. That one took me a while."

"Mmm," he hummed, nodding. "That too."

She felt heat rush to her cheeks, a different variety of nerves flooding her system. She removed her hands from her guitar, balancing the instrument in her lap as they slowly reached towards his face. For the first time since she'd done this, he did not flinch, and she was grateful despite the apparent edge in his shoulders.

When she set the mask to the side, not removing her eyes from his gaze, it no longer mattered. The fear he'd once felt of her understanding his reality—seeing it for what it was—dissipated at the sight of those lovely, loving eyes.

Her hand stroked his most ruined cheek, and she ignored his sharp gasp for air.

"Why didn't you get surgery?" she asked in a low voice, afraid her curiosity might ruin the moment, perhaps even what they had.

"Surgery won't get rid of decades of pain," he replied, mirroring her low tone.

Christine pressed her lips to the space beneath his right eye, drawing a deep groan from him. She pulled back to make sure he was okay with what she was doing, afraid she'd already asked so much.

"But maybe that can," he continued.

She chuckled and took both his cheeks between her hands, pressing her lips to his. He met hers with gentle, probing open-mouth kisses. They paused a short moment as he removed the guitar from her lap, setting it aside so that he could pull her over top of him as he laid against the mattress.

A knock at the door forced them to break apart frantically.

"Dinner's ready," Mamma Valerius' voice announced from behind the door.

Christine glanced in Erik's direction, her cheeks rosy with embarrassment and her hair a bit out of place from where he'd slipped his finger in it.

"I'll come in behind you," he said, reaching for his mask.

Christine nodded with a small smile and stood from her bed, exiting the room before him.


	13. Chapter 13

On a typical Thursday night, the bar kept a decent crowd—everyone from music fans to people just looking to flat out get hammered. This night, however, was unusually busy. Erik had already spent the entire car ride trying to coax Christine and her nerves, but now, as they walked through the door to find the bar packed and bustling with business, he too found himself thrumming with equal anxiety. Whether it was for her or for the music they'd worked on together, he was not sure. Perhaps both.

They'd already made their selection of what she would sing. Every solo artist was allowed five minutes of performance time on stage, enough for her to squeeze in two songs. He made her practice time and time again, first to get comfortable with singing them and second to get comfortable singing them in front of him, as he had become aware of how she blushed with nerves every time he requested that she sing something for him.

Christine turned to him now, her eyes wide, begging: please don't make me do this. He bit back his own feelings of apprehension and lifted a hand to her cheek.

"You'll be fine," he promised, trying to speak over the crowd. "Just be yourself, concentrate on the music, and every little worry will wash away."

Her eyes slipped down to his mouth, and she tilted her head ever so slightly towards him in a request. He smiled and pressed his lips to hers for a short moment, afraid that if he held much longer, his brain might fuzz from the exhilaration of kissing in public and he might have to be carried out on a stretcher.

He slipped her electric guitar off his back and handed it to her before she walked off, making a straight line to the bar.

"Nachos?" the familiar bartender questioned before Erik could even have a moment to open his mouth.

He chuckled and shrugged, slipping a ten dollar bill over the counter.

"Nachos, again?"

Erik's head shot in the direction of Nadir taking the stool beside him and his friend laughed at his surprise. "Thought you might be able to avoid me? Been too wrapped up with this girlfriend of yours, eh?"

Erik's mouth molded into a hard line. He wasn't sure so much if he could define Christine as his girlfriend. Labeling her so felt like it reduced her being; she meant so much more than that. And 'love of my life' seemed too cliche.

"Wrapped things up early at work?"

Nadir sighed and perched his arms upon the bartop. "It wasn't all too busy today."

The bartender placed Erik's nachos before him, receiving a thankful nod before he lifted a cheese-drenched tortilla chip from the basket. "Have they replaced me yet?"

Nadir nodded, cringing slightly at the sight of his friend eating his overly-processed nachos. "The poor boy is quite young, though. He struggles with keeping up."

"He'll learn eventually."

Making conversation was rather taxing knowing somewhere in the back of the bar Christine was probably pacing a room, shaking her hands as if she'd just washed them, one breath away from hyperventilating. That image of her the night she confessed to signing up for a soloist spot remained in his mind. A worried, distressed Christine was not his favorite image; he preferred her smile over the ridges that formed between her brows when she gave him a look of concern (although he had concluded that she was adorable either way).

By the time Christine came out, Erik had already munched through his entire basket of nachos and downed half a mug of beer in spite of Nadir's teasing side-comments which often prompted a disconcerting glare on Erik's end.

The Christine he saw on stage now was remarkably shy in comparison to the Christine he saw on stage with Mephistopheles. His heart ached at the way she ducked her eyes from the crowd, allowing her hair to curtain her face as she plugged her guitar into an amp. But when she finally found her way to the mic after fixing the guitar strap over her shoulder, strumming the first few chords to the song they'd practiced time and time again, everything else seemed to fall away, and all that mattered in the world was her and her music.

The crowd applauded as her song met its end, and Erik smiled as she did, finally finding the courage to meet the crowd's gaze as she did so. She paused for a second, then a second longer, and suddenly too long. Her face did not belong to Christine—it belonged to a deer in headlights.

Erik stood from his seat, fully prepared to run on stage and sweep her into his arms before she could lose it all. But he held back and froze as soon as her eyes found him beyond the crowd. She appeared to swallow nervously and dropped her eyes back to her feet.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. Erik thought he might die at the sound her voice—so strong in song, yet so weak now before him. She shook her head and, in another wave of courage, met the crowd's eyes once again. "I planned on singing another song tonight, but I don't think it's the one that needs to be heard." She strummed a chord in trial and sighed to relax.

When she proceeded, Erik realized it had not been a song he'd heard before. She'd played seven songs that she'd wrote, but never this one. The chord progression was entirely unfamiliar to him. When she began to sing, he returned to his seat, leaning forward towards her as he would when she sang to him in her bedroom.

The song was about him, or at least he was sure it was about him. She sang words of newfound love, being cautious and afraid to have her heart broken again. The lyrics pulled his heart in every direction—in ways that would make him cry and in ways that made him wish there was no crowd or stage between them so that he could wrap his arms around her and hold her as tight as possible, never letting her go.

The song was well-received, but Erik no longer cared about the crowd's opinion for her sake. His ears were deaf to the applause and deaf to Nadir's questions as Erik stood from his seat once more to travel to the back of the bar. A bouncer stood between him and the doorway, and suddenly all hopes of seeing her before her next performance slipped away.

A heavy hand found his shoulder, and Erik turned to see Nadir by his side once again. He smiled, a mischievous glint twinkling in the back of his eyes. "I've got this."

Erik would've questioned the practicality of Nadir's plan, asking how he thought that it was possible for him to slip past the bouncer as tall as he was and especially with his stark white mask, but as soon as he heard the thick Persian accent emerge from his friend's mouth, he knew it was all over with. The unforgiving gaze the bouncer had put on shifted into something of a panic as Nadir frantically asked if the man had seen his made-up daughter, swearing he'd seen her walk into the bar.

Erik made his way into the back and traveled down a long hall, catching the back of Christine's head before she entered the bathroom. He should've thought better of it, he knew, but he decided against his better judgment and entered after her.

Christine stood before a mirror, hands gripping the ceramic rim of a sink. They made eye contact in the mirror, and she whipped around, staring at him questioningly for a moment before she gave in and ran to wrap her arms around him. He accepted her, happily folding her into his arms as well.

By the time they pulled away, she had unshed tears in her eyes, her brows furrowed deeply.

"What is wrong?" he asked quickly, his hands finding her wrists.

"I froze."

"Oh, Christine." He folded her back into him. "You did a splendid job. Your little hiccup doesn't matter, because you sang tonight and gave them your music in spite of your reluctance."

"I didn't sing for them." Erik cocked his head at her, maintaining his grip.

He knew what she meant without asking. He could see it in her eyes exactly what she was feeling, and felt it deep within him too.

"Kiss me."

Her request had come out on a breathless note, and he realized his breathing had become shallow in the brief period of having her so close. When he finally pressed his lips to hers, however, it felt as if his lungs were going to burst, his body thrumming with life. Her hand found the back of his head, fingers slipping into his hair, and pushed him closer.

The bathroom door burst open. "Chris-"

They broke apart frantically. The dark-haired girl Erik recognized from Christine's band stood in the door with the most stupified expression he'd ever seen. Before the girl could say anything, Christine moved to the door and pushed her out of the bathroom, glancing back at Erik once before leaving, a small grin upon her lips.

By the time Erik had made it back towards the bouncer, Nadir had already moved onto the phone, speaking in Farsi as he pulled his hair with a clenched fist. He pretended to sigh in relief, ending whatever "phone call" he'd been on while he proceeded to thank the bouncer with a light pat on the shoulder.

Erik made his way back to the bar, smiling his thank-you to Nadir who returned it with a wink as he headed out the front door.

Christine had something of a renewed confidence when her band came out. There was no room for anything more than smiles, energy, and music on that stage.

Erik waited by the back for her, greeting her with a kiss and an open hand that rid her the burden of carrying two guitars at once.

"Where to now, my Christine?" He smiled as he remained leaning over her, their mouths inches away from one more kiss.

Her cheeks warmed with a peachy red. "Home?"

His smiled widened, and he straightened himself, turning as he took her hand. He didn't have to ask if she meant his or hers; he already knew.

Ayesha welcomed them back with a loud wail, headbutting their legs as they stopped to set the guitars down.

"Good evening," Erik chuckled as he leaned to scratch her back.

Christine started toward the bathroom door with an overnight bag. "I'm going to go wash up for the night."

"Okay."

Erik moved Christine's guitars to a safer corner of the room and cracked open a can of wet food for Ayesha, spooning it into her dish. The cat, however, was hungry and not in the mood for allowing him to dawdle. Headbutting his hand out of the way, she forced him to pour the second half of her food onto the countertop. He heard the bathroom door open as he began cleaning up the mess, swearing at Ayesha for being an impatient girl.

"Erik?"

"I'll be there in just one second," he replied, his voice layered with frustration from the cat.

Small arms snaked around his torso when he made his way to the sink to rinse out what residue was left in the can, pulling him against the tiny body behind him. "Ayesha can clean up her own mess. Come to bed," Christine whispered, standing on her toes to speak into the shell of his ear.

Erik's throat emitted something of a growl. "Count that as two impatient girls," he spoke mainly to himself but loud enough so that Christine could hear it as well.

She released him when he spun around, his narrowed eyes widening at the sight of her: strawberry cheeks, hair tossed into a messy bun with loose whisps at her ears, a silky ice-blue chemise in place of her earlier jeans and t-shirt. He didn't have to say anything for her to know just what was going on in his head; his eyes said it all.

He carelessly tossed the can in his bucket of recyclables and absentmindedly followed Christine into the bedroom, his eyes never seizing to scan every inch of her that was visible to his eye.

She had him over top of her, his lips brushing hers, seeking what angles she liked most. He seized when she did, meeting eyes that spoke everything he felt but couldn't articulate.

"Did you like my song?"

It took him a moment to realize she had spoken, lost in the sea of her eyes. He cleared his throat and smiled. "It was good."

Christine frowned. Good. Just good?

"There are some things I would change, like when-"

Christine punched his shoulder, and he yelped in pain. "Asshole!"

He laughed as he brought a hand to his shoulder and rubbed what he was sure would be a bruise by morning. "I'm just joking, Christine." His voice softened into a sultry state that made her feel as if she was melting. "It was perfect."

Suddenly they were nose-to-nose again. Christine lifted her arms, placing a hand on each of his masked cheeks.

"Here," Erik said, lifting back, "let me take care of that."

Christine smiled as he pulled off his mask for the first time on his own since she'd been around, and placed it on the nightstand nearby. Cautiously, he turned back to her once more, grinning meekly as a smile crept onto her lips.

His eyes traveled down her once more, stopping at a long scar that sat lengthwise on the front of her thigh. She did not flinch when he traced the scar with the pad of his thumb.

"Ice skating," she explained. "With my dad."

Erik smiled at the little faded slash and bent to press his lips to it. She groaned his name, receiving a small hush in response.

"Permettez-moi d'embrasser toutes vos cicatrices, ma Christine."

Christine relaxed against the bed and let him kiss her, let him hold her, let him love her as she loved him. Everything felt as it had earlier that night when there was nothing more than her and music. It didn't matter if the world was crumbling away outside; all that mattered was them.

* * *

 _A/N: Supposedly "Permettez-moi d'embrasser toutes vos cicatrices, ma Christine," translates to "Allow me to kiss all your scars, my Christine." In case you too do not speak French._


End file.
